Werewolves in London Season One: A Study in Pink
by Tiger DeRanged
Summary: John, a young Alpha and returning veteran, finds his Mate in the elusive Sherlock Holmes and soon finds himself flatmates with the man. Will Sherlock ever deduce that he is John's mate? And who is this mysterious band of hunters after John and his pack? First in the Werewolves in London series. Johnlock. Slightly AU
1. Chapter 1

**DeRanged: Well I have to say I have become hooked on **_**Sherlock**_** and as a result Johnlock. This is my first time writing with this pairing and actually sharing it, so reviews and criticisms are welcome. However, I will not accept comments on how OOC my characters are because this is my story and I tell you in the summary that it is slightly AU meaning the characters may be different in personality as well. **

**Sherlock: Get on with it woman!**

**John: Sherlock!**

**Sherlock: *head tilt* Not good?**

**John: *shaking his head fondly* Bit not good, yeah.**

**DeRanged: *watching this with a grin* And you guys wonder why we shipped you guys so quickly *snorts* Oblivious buggars. Anyways Lestrade, mind giving the disclaimer for me dear?**

**Lestrade: *looks at Tiger confused before reading off the cue card given to him* Tiger DeRanged does not own Sherlock or any of the characters, that is far beyond her brilliance however the twist with werewolves and some of the characters are.**

**DeRanged: *pats him on top of the head* Great job! Enjoy folks, I hope I do it justice!**

**Chapter One: Daft Therapists, Packmates, and Mates**

_ Bullets flying and bombs exploding, the sounds caused his eardrums to quiver painfully due to his heightened hearing; he'd be surprised if there wasn't blood running down from them. None of this, of course, blocked out the screams of his men as they fell left and right either from panic or because they'd been hit. Bodies littered the dust covered ground, blood and dust and death clogging his nose making it utterly useless in this situation. He nearly screamed in agony when he felt several of his links to his pack mates severed simultaneously, an ache began deep in his chest with a cadence of throbbing. Apparently this had been enough distraction because he soon felt a searing pain in his left shoulder, the force causing him to fall over. However, the sudden pain was underlined by a stinging that seemed to spread through his blood stream. Silver. Dammit. Desperately gasping for breath, he tried to stay conscious as someone screamed his name in fear._

With a snarl John shot up from his sleeping position, eyes crimson and fangs bared in pain while his claws were sharp and curled ready to disembowel the shades that were his memories of the war. It took a few minutes for him to recognize that he was no longer in the middle of a battlefield but in the shithole of a bedsit the government had provided, the depressingly bare walls offering him comfort for the first time since his return. Breathing deeply, he growled in frustration at himself while trying to compose himself. Clenching his eyes shut the man fought off the ghosts of his memories, falling back into a supine position on the crappy twin bed he was given while unconsciously rubbing his chest where it continued to ache with the loss of his packmates that had yet to stop throbbing even with the months that passed.

Seamus. Charles. Robert. Betty. Hannah. Caitlyn.

All dead.

All dead…..because of him.

With yet another growl of self-disgust, John scrubbed a hand down his face to remove the wet track of tears running down his cheeks and hopefully his frustrations at his failings as an Alpha with it. He wouldn't want Dorothy barging into his flat again because she felt his imbalance, not as she had done the last time when he had just gotten out of the shower sans a towel; that had been embarrassing as she hadn't let him get dressed until he told her what was wrong. Mad hag, he couldn't help but think fondly.

Thinking of the motherly woman brought a smile to his worn features and he calmed almost instantly; the woman was a spit fire despite her getting on in age. If John didn't know better he would have thought the woman to be a mother bear rather than a wolf, she certainly acted it. Finally at peace within in his mind once more John pushed himself out of bed, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder from the starburst scar where he had been shot and the silver had spread. Slowly limping his way to the en suit bathroom, John couldn't help but cast a glance at the cane he had been given for his "psychosomatic limp" that had only collected dust since his return. It reminded him to fire the government ordered therapist he would have to see that day; the woman was an idiot. It stated clearly in his file that he had undergone silver poisoning in his leg yet the daft woman believed he had the limp and the tremor in his left hand due to PTSD and a traumatic injury. The first thing on his file, almost directly after his name, rank, and birth date, was werewolf in clear, bolded letters! How did this woman get the job again?

As he showered John made the decision to call up Damien to cancel his therapy once and for all. It was unlikely the woman had the necessary training to treat an Alpha who had lost so many pack members simultaneously only to undergo torture directly after. Perhaps he could get the young wolf to get her fired as well; if her treatment of him was anything to go by she was inept and under qualified to practice with _anyone_ let alone a veteran Alpha. Nodding to himself he quickly finished his shower and stepped out to grab his electric shaver by the sink. Ignoring the towel, he let himself air dry as he shaved God knew how many diseases were on that disgusting thing.

He finished fairly quickly, unused to being allowed to take his time with such things since the army. Walking back into the bedsit John felt no self-consciousness to his nakedness; if he hadn't been from his time running with the pack then the army certainly would have purged such habits. Grabbing a clean pair of pants from his bedside table drawer, he slipped them on before walking over to one of the unpacked boxes in the corner filled with his civilian clothes. Digging through it he finally found something and pulled it out, setting the outfit on his bed before closing the boxes once more. Many bugs infested the building, wouldn't want any of them to think his clothing was a perfect home or nesting site. Wrinkling his nose in disgust at the thought, John pulled on the fitted pair of faded jeans that hung enticingly low on his slim hips before covering his rippling pectorals and abs with a red muscles shirt once again ignoring the pull on his shoulder wound. He was acclimatized to pain after all, it was nothing compared to the torture he underwent in Afghanistan.

Before he could pull on his boots however his new phone gave a howl from its place on his desk. Chuckling at Harry's dry humor, John limped over to the small desk that was the only other piece of furniture in his room where he had left the phone the night before.

COFFEE? –MS

Mike Stamford. Old friend and pack member since they were children. Mike's father had been John's father's Second for as long as John could remember. Harry must have already spread the word that he was back in country because John had yet to contact the other pack members with his new number, he would have to remember to thank his Second later then.

Slowly he replied, fingers unused to texting as it had been a long while since he handled anything but the headsets and talkies they used in the war zone.

WHERE? –JW

As he waited for an answer he brought his boots over to the chair and began to lace them up. Just as he sat down however his phone gave another howl. That was fast. Quickly shoving his feet in his shoes and lacing them up with deft, confident movements he finally picked up his phone to read the response.

PARK WE USED TO TERRORIZE THE BUGGARS FROM UNI GOOD? –MS

John chuckled at the fond memory as he texted a quick confirmation; it would be good to see the man again. He had missed Mike's humor which was so similar to his own in those days; they had been the terrors of the school to the snobs who got in on their rich parents' money. Jumping up he pulled on his light jacket, hesitating and debating whether he should wear the rifle jacket that his mother had given him before he left for the war as an apology for his father's attitude. Deciding against it for today John made his way out of the room, sending a quick text to Damien about the therapist as well as with the instruction to spread his number to the rest of the pack so they could get in contact with him and update him on what else he had missed. Harry had updated him pretty thoroughly but that didn't account for each pack member personally; he wanted to know about their families, their health, their successes, their failures, he wanted to know how his family was.

**-The Park Outside of Bart's-**

John walked confidently down the paths in the center of the park, glancing about casually at the couples walking and the families playing and the students congregated together all bent over books. He easily caught the stares in his direction and smelled the spike in pheromones when he passed by, ignoring the obvious attempts to flirt with their body language. He wasn't interested, none of them were his mate and thus not worth his time because he would only hurt them when he did find his mate.

Stopping at the small stand where coffee was being sold he ordered something for himself and Mike before making his way over to the bench they had always met at in their Uni days as they had agreed. When he arrived a man was already sitting there and the familiar scent of his childhood friend and brother in all but blood hit him; the years had been kind to Mike then, he was glad. At least one of them knew peace, this reassured his wolf making it pant happily in its place in his subconscious.

Mike must have scented him as well because the man's scent was suddenly submissive causing John to chuckle, smart not to draw attention. Nowadays people were very accepting of werewolves but this did not mean that hunters weren't still around so the packs had to find personalized ways to stay unnoticed but keep to their traditions. Sensing his Alpha's approval the man glanced up at John with that familiar, cheeky grin of his, "Yeah, I know, I got fat," he teased, standing.

John let out an amused laugh, the first genuine one since his return, as he embraced one of his Betas, "Yeah, and I managed to get shot by the only hunter in Afghanistan. What a pair we make, eh mate?" he shot back sarcastically.

Mike joined him in his laughter as they drew back and sat down, taking his coffee off of John and taking a thankful sip. Glancing over John noticed his friend in a suit with a tie; he also noticed he had a briefcase. This brought on a conversation of what each other had missed due to John's time in the army with their other packmates. At this they took a few moments of silence to mourn for their lost mates, fighting back the howls of loss that their wolves were letting out in their minds. Finally, they went back to lighter subjects hoping to get rid of the cloying air of depression that had settled about them.

"So are you staying in London? I know Dot and a few of the others would love it if you did," there was hope coloring Mike's tone and John snorted.

"Low blow using Dot and the pack Mikey," he said with a smirk, putting a soothing hand on Mike's shoulder to show he was teasing, "I would love to stay too, but I really can't afford anything on the horrible army pension I have."

Mike rolled his eyes, "You stupid git, the stubborn bastard hasn't been alive for years, why don't you just have Harry unfreeze your inheritance?" the irritation in his friend's tone was actually quite amusing.

John took a slow sip of his coffee and savored the taste, knowing he was only irritating Mike more but the Beta made it so easy to do. Finally he fixed Mike with a knowing look, "Harry won't stop bugging you, then?"

Mike groaned and let his head fall to the back of the bench, "Blood hell John, I'm pretty sure the Watson stubbornness is genetic!" he muttered.

John choked on coffee as laughed in the middle of taking a sip, coughing to try and clear his throat while Mike grinned smugly at his loss of composure. Giving his old friend a mock glare John finally let go of the act and smiled at his friend, his old, easy-going grins gone since the first year in Afghanistan. They sat in silence, just enjoying their coffee for a bit and each other's company. Words didn't need to be exchange, their body language and scents told each other everything they needed to know. Their link thrummed with life in John's chest making the man hide a grin behind the lid of his coffee as he took a final sip.

Mike spoke up finally, "Thought of a flatshare?" he asked, returning to their original topic.

John sent Mike a disbelieving look as he threw his cup away, "Who would want me for a flatmate?" he asked in disbelief, glancing down at himself. He was a damage Alpha who couldn't even protect the few packmates that accompanied him there.

Mike started laughing softly to himself and John tilted his head curiously, "What?" he asked.

"You're the second person to ask me that today," Mike said, still chuckling to himself.

John was curious now, "Who was the first?" he wanted to know what other friends Mike had made.

Mike gave him a secretive, smug grin that instantly put John on edge as the man chugged what was left of his now lukewarm coffee. That smile was the same one Mike would wear when they were about to prank one of the bullies at the Uni and usually ended up getting John caught up in trouble. With a resigned sigh John waved his hand in a go-ahead gesture knowing whatever Mike had in mind John didn't have enough motivation to talk him out of it. Almost instantly after this triumph shined in Mike's eyes as he jumped up and grabbed his bag, standing in front of John and shifting excitedly in front of John like a child promised ice cream.

With a mock put upon sigh John heaved himself off the bench and followed after Mike, his limp only slowing him down slightly. His leg was healing and almost back to its original strength, the only reason his limp was still present was due to the muscle atrophy after the silver had been injected into his system. Unconsciously, Mike fell into place beside him only about a half-an-inch behind him to show John's status as higher ranking in the pack. Both John and his wolf abhorred such traditions; despite it being natural for wolves they were also human in action. Some traditions were meant to be abandoned, the ones that subjected others to believing themselves lesser than others was one of them. With this irritation a flame in his mind John reached back and pulled Mike even with him, his touch as well as their link vibrating with reassurance. At first he felt surprise before joy overpowered it and Mike beamed, his step becoming lighter and springier than before even with his prior excitement.

Smiling to himself John finally spoke up as they continued to walk away from the park, "So where are we headed then Mikey?" he asked, reverting to his friend's nick name.

Mike was relaxed and happy as he spoke calmly, "Bart's. I actually work there now!" the excitement in the man's tone was obvious.

John sent his pride and happiness for his friend through their link, knowing his Beta was perfect at it. He had always assumed Mike would become a teacher by the way he tutored others and his infinite patience. The man had been brilliant, even as they were children, in teaching even the most stubborn child and giving them a renewed passion for a subject. Teaching had definitely always been Mike's calling.

_Like leading and protecting those under your care is yours_ a traitorous voice sounded in his mind, sounding eerily like Harry.

Ignoring this voice John continued to follow Mike back to their alma mater, talking fondly of their time in school there; recalling memories that brought equal bits of laughter and shouts of irritation. They walked confidently through the tiled hallways of Bart's, Mike greeting anyone he knew that might pass them with a jaunty wave and cheery greeting. They would always respond in kind, Mike had always been a hard fellow to dislike if you were a decent sort, and always cast curious glances at John who remained silent beside Mike's side. That had been the case even in their schooling; an outsider would think Mike to be the Alpha had they known their status as werewolves but John had always been a private lad and stuck to his father's tendencies of strong and silent and calming rather than rambunctious and outgoing.

They continued on their way after a short conversation with one of Mike's colleagues (the woman frankly irritated John with her continuous attempts to flirt with him and the sickening scent of her arousal), making their way toward what John recalled used to be a private chemistry lab a professor never failed to let Mike and John use despite knowing they only used it for pranking purposes. Old Professor Novak had been a boisterous fellow who always seemed to know what was going on, Mike and John had called him Professor Dumbledore in their freshman year in his class as a joke much to Novak's delight; the name stuck since.

Many memories echoed about the hallways they walked down and the two werewolves had fallen into a silence to listen to their addicting songs. They sang of a time when their pack had been whole and full of laughter and easy times. The specter of pain that was never far from John's mind where the links he shared with his lost packmates flared once more as Mike held the door open to the lab for him, making him instinctually nod to the Beta in thanks. However, the scent that filled his nose the moment he stepped in drove that pain to near nonexistence with its very presence and strength: old books, gunpowder, pine trees, and surprisingly nicotine faintly.

Holding himself back from his need to inhale deeply, nostrils flared to gain a larger dosing of the addicting scent, John spoke up thankful his voice remained even despite the turmoil in his mind, "Bit different from my day," he said, looking at all the high end equipment that littered the lab tables and cabinets.

Mike gave a snort, "You have no idea," he stated dryly, eyes twinkling with their inside joke making John fight a large grin down and rolled his eyes fondly in its stead to show Mike his amusement.

A silky baritone, one that sent delicious shivers of arousal down John's spine in a way it had never done in all his years, cut off any of John's answering humor, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There is no signal on mine."

John turned to get a look at the creature that held such an arousing voice and scent, because that was the only other explanation as to where the enticing scent may have originated from. When he did however he froze and had to desperately fight the urge to gape at the absolutely gorgeous human before him. Ebony hair fell in thick curls around pale, sharp, aristocratic features that John wanted to taste. Light blue eyes with a hint of steely silver were piercing even though they were not trained upon him and made John feel as if he could easily get lost in the man's gaze and be perfectly content to stay that way. The white button up strained around his subtle muscles and brought color to the man's pale skin, only more enhanced by the coal black suit jacket overtop that matched perfectly with fitting slacks that covered mile-long legs. Long, elegant fingers had John nearly salivating to bring them into his mouth to suckle at gently and showed their dexterity as they handled a slide and the equipment expertly.

He was breathtaking.

He was his Mate.

The link snapped into place and left John reeling momentarily as his wolf let a howl loose in triumph; so powerful was the feeling that John felt the howl growing in his own throat but he quickly clamped down upon the feeling wanting to give nothing away to his mate.

Well shite.

Mike's exasperated voice brought him back before he could panic too much, "Sorry, it's in my coat," he said pointing back toward the door where they had entered. It was true before reaching the lab they had dropped Mike's bag and coat in his office. But John easily smelled the lie coming off his friend and recalled his friend taking his phone out and slipping it into his trouser pocket; he knew what had just happened. Damn him and bless the bastard at the same time.

Taking the opportunity Mike had offered him, John spoke up easily, "Oh here," when he caught his Mate's attention he dug the phone Harry pawned off on him out of his own light jacket pocket, "you can use mine."

Suddenly, meeting the man's eyes head on John began to think it was a horrible idea to gain the man's attention. His wolf was practically screaming for him to make the man before him submit and let himself be claimed by John. The slight confused shock in his eyes only dulled this need slightly, but it was just enough for John to be able to strictly control it once more.

"Oh. Thank you," the way the man said the gratitude it was obvious the words were slightly foreign on his tongue, bringing a bit of amusement to John though he did nothing to show it. The tall, slender man climbed down from the stool on which he had been perched and made his way over to John to grab the outstretched phone form the Alpha's hand.

Mike spoke up as the man reached John's position at the end of the center table, "An old friend of mine, John Watson," by way of explanation to a question that was never asked. As his Mate distractedly took the phone form John the Alpha turned a sharp look to Mike only to have the Beta shake his head.

His human Mate did not know their status as werewolves.

Bloody brilliant.

John turned back to find his mate typing quickly on his slide phone and a baritone voice filled the silence once more, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Shock doused John in a cold wave, "Sorry what?" he managed to choke out in a seemingly smooth tone. How had the man been able to tell he was a soldier, let alone figure out what war he fought in? He had to check the urge to check himself over for any telling; he had left his dog tags with his army gear and uniform, even his boots weren't with him.

"Which was it," the impatience in the man's tone was subtle but John easily noticed it, so he wasn't fond of repeating himself then, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Trying to clear his thoughts John got an eerie instinct that his mate would keep him on his toes, "Afghanistan. Sorry, How did you know?" he asked, but the end of his question was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. Another, female scent filled the room that only helped John recognize another presence, the scent doing nothing for him now that he had found his Mate.

The man's attention was firmly on her now, handing John his phone back as he turned his attention to the woman over John's shoulder, "Ah, Molly…coffee. Thank you," here the woman reached John's left side and a dainty hand gave a brown coffee mug over to John's Mate.

Now that she was so close the arousal coating her scent for John's mate nearly drowned him and his wolf was snarling at her, possessiveness and jealousy cloying the wolf's mind as it threw itself angrily against John's shields.

"What happened to the lipstick?" his Mate's attention jolting from one new subject to another.

Turning John took in the all together plain features of the woman, now identified as Molly. She wore an atrocious, plaid shirt with ruffles down the front and her matted brown hair did nothing for her features and was put in a simple tail at her neck, split down the middle. The white lab coat was the only interesting bit about her as it made John curious as to what department the woman worked in. His wolf was quickly calmed by the girl's normality and his Mate's obvious disinterest.

"It wasn't working for me,' she managed to stutter in a meek voice.

Her mannerisms reeked of Omega had she been a werewolf and John couldn't help but pity her despite his smugness as well. Despite the facts that humans could not completely understand the werewolves' instincts, they continued to follow their mannerisms especially when it came to mating. She didn't stand a chance considering his Mate's obvious Alpha, or at the very least Second Beta, tendencies that John had witnessed already.

"Really?" the disinterest in the continued subject was coating his mate's tone this time as the man turned away to walk back to his station taking a sip of the coffee before John smelled the disgust clearly in the form of a spike in nicotine in his Mate's scent, "I thought it was a big improvement, your mouth's too small now."

Molly's embarrassment and hurt nearly caused John to collapse from its strength, "Okay," she managed to choke out in a daze before turning and walking out quickly.

Poor thing.

John watched her flee for a moment, his emotions warring over pity and pride before he was distracted by his Mate once more as the man spoke up from his corner, "How do you feel about the violin?"

The Alpha was left in confusion once more, John was beginning to think this would be a constant state of mind for him as he pursued his Mate's affections, "I'm sorry what?" he asked, fighting the urge to push Mike to the floor for the amused smugness he was getting through their pack link.

The man didn't meet John's gaze as he began finishing whatever he was doing, "I play the violin while thinking. Sometimes I don't speak for days on end. Would that bother you?" he asked with a curious tilt of his head and widening of his eyes, "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other," at this he offered one of the first smiles John had witnessed and it took his breath away. The wrinkles by his eyes should not have been as endearing as they were to John in that moment.

Wait. Potential flatmates? John almost sent an accusing glare toward Mike before he realized none of his packmates realized his financial situation until today, he had only recently considered a flatshare due to Mike's question. Hmm, perhaps his Mate had abilities? It would be interesting to discover that was for sure.

Finally with a mental shrug, John spoke up easily, "Well in that case: I have nightmares of the battlefield and tend to wake up screaming. I am dangerous when surprised, though that only happens when I've recently woken up from a nightmare. I also get a plethora of calls at the oddest times. Would that bother _you_?" he returned with a flash of his old grin, while tilting his head similar to how he would in his lupine form.

Obviously the man hadn't expected such a response because he stood frozen in the middle of putting on his coat. A Belstaff coat to be precise; dashing. Seeming to finally come back to himself the man continued to pull on his coat, adjust in the collar with a deft, practiced flick of his wrists, "You aren't going to ask how I knew you were looking for a flatshare?" those sharp blue eyes were analyzing John closely now.

Rather than feel as if he were being dissected, as John was sure many other people did under his Mate's searching stare, he only felt amusement; his mate was being almost childlike with at the moment. Adorable. A content purr began to build in his chest but he quickly captured it there before it could be revealed.

"Would you tell me if I did?" John challenged, subtly shifting his weight when his leg gave a particularly sharp twinge.

Those blue eyes sharpened right before John's eyes and he knew his challenged had been accepted; he had surprised the man and his Mate didn't like it. This would be fun.

Suddenly the man was speaking in his deep baritone, tone professional and quick," Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap," as he spoke, he finished wrapping himself up far too thickly for the slight weather outside with a faded blue scarf around his neck.

John was deeply impressed by his mate's observations once more, "How did you know about Afghanistan?" he asked, the usual defensiveness he felt over the subject all but gone due to the fact it was his Mate and John would have told the man eventually.

However, the man seemed unwilling to answer this question because he ignored it completely, "Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London," he said offhandedly, gaze fixed on the phone in his hand before placing it in his jacket pocket, "Together we ought to be able to afford it."

By this time John's mate was right in front of John, their eyes locked for an electrifying moment before the man was moving around him and toward the door. John realized he didn't want his Mate to leave just yet.

"Is that it?" he called out just in time as the man was already part way through the door.

The man practically stalked back over to where John was standing, a few feet between them, "Is that what?" he asked impatience obvious; John could practically taste the man's excitement and energy.

John was so confused, weren't humans supposed to be more cautious of strangers? Werewolves didn't have to worry much due to the fact that they could almost instantly judge someone by their scent and their aura if the person had some distant relation in werewolves.

"We've only just met, and we're going to look at a flat?" disbelief was coating John's tone but could easily be taken on as defensiveness if the look in his Mate's eyes was anything to go by.

"Problem?" there was confusion in the man's scent though his features were perfectly composed. He even sent a look to Mike as if for guidance; this part warmed John slightly as it meant his Mate found comfort already in his pack.

John quickly came up with normal problems someone would have in these situations to see if the man before him had even considered them, "We don't know a thing about each other," except that he was the moon to John's wolf, "I don't know where we're meeting," true, but then John could easily locate his Mate with the young link between himself and the man, "I don't even know your name," also true, and something John was actually desperate to learn now.

Those blue eyes were narrowed now; this was different than before, it seemed that John had somehow insulted his Mate's pride, "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him; probably because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, a wrong assumption I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" the challenge in his tone toward the end added with the almost methodical way he had said all of it should not have been as arousing as it was for John at this point.

John was left completely speechless and had to clench his teeth to hide the fangs that sprang up due to his intense arousal towards his Mate. The man had thankfully gone through the door before rushing back once more and hanging half way in the room, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," with this last word he winked in what was clearly an awkward manner that told John that he merely did it to appear socially normal.

Interesting.

He ignored the farewells exchanged between his Mate and Beta, too caught up in his inner musings as he argued with his inner wolf. The beast wanted to claim Sherlock now so no one would be able to take him away, but John knew that would easily scare off the man. If his awkward wink had been anything to go by than the man was not very intuned to his emotions or the social norms of society which meant that he and his wolf would have to approach the situation cautiously and with care if he wanted to keep his Mate and not scare him off. His wolf only gave a grumbling agreement due to the fact that he knew his human part was correct.

When John returned to reality he noticed Mike's cocky grin of success and couldn't help but huff in amusement, "Yes, yes," John said waving dismissively, though his amusement as his Beta's joy was obvious in his shining blue eyes, "good boy. Shall I fetch you a bone?" he asked in a mock simpering tone, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Mike rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out in a childish gesture so familiar to John from their times as children, "Har, har, very funny Johnny Boy. A dog joke, how original," he snarked back, crossing his arms in over exaggerated irritation which caused John to grin and fall easily into their usual routine of insults and sarcasm.

"Careful Fido," John teased, wagging a finger dramatically, "or I'll have to leash you."

Mike pulled a face of horror and there was a pause before they both simultaneously burst into hysterical laughter. John had to grip the edge of the table while Mike placed his forehead on it through their laughter. John felt a relief and peace he hadn't felt since his return from the war, everything was finally right with his world.

After they had calmed Mike made his way over to his Alpha and, in a rare show of weakness, laid his head down on John' shoulder, "So, you actually going to go through with this? He's like that all the time," though his words spoke a warning there was hope shining in his tone.

John lifted an instinctual hand to the back of his Beta's neck and sent out soothing emotions while he thought it over. After a moment he spoke in a soft, gentle voice, "Best tell the others I'm permanently stations in London, then."

Mike grinned like a loon as he inhaled his Alpha's comforting scent and they stayed in that position for the rest of their time together, talking about everything and nothing as they had done as lads. Soon they got on the subject of John's elusive Mate, Sherlock Holmes, and the Alpha didn't know whether to be horrified or altogether amused at what his Mate could get into. Mike described him as an enigma whereas he told John that Sherlock referred to himself as a "high-functioning sociopath" and that his Mate did little to gain the appreciation of others. If John thought about it, then it was obvious that the man's isolation as a child due to his high intelligence level caused his social awkwardness and made him appear as a sociopath even to the man himself.

"Well one thing's for sure," he muttered to his relaxed Beta, hand still on Mike's neck soothingly, "I won't be bored any longer."

John had no idea how true his words rung; Sherlock Holmes was many things but boring he was not.

**-End of this Chapter-**

**DeRanged: Well I hope that was well worth the read and the reviews I get will determine whether I continue to post; I am by no means holding the story ransom but if I have no one interested in my story what's the point in posting yeah? So, review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**DeRanged: I was so happy to see how many people read it, though a little sad at the few reviews I go but they were great nonetheless! I am so glad I actually have readers; one of the biggest fears is posting a story and seeing no one's read it. Anyway, here's the next chapter if John would be so kind as to give the disclaimer…?**

**John: Tiger DeRanged holds no claim to the original plot of Sherlock Holmes nor the characters or the show which this story is based off of. However any OCs that may appear are, to steal Sherlock's favorite word, obviously her own making.**

**DeRanged: Thank you, Doctor Watson! I think I saw Sherlock over by the gun cabinet.**

**John: O.O *runs off***

**DeRanged: *watches him go confused* Wonder what's his rush, I never said he had a key or that the cabinet was in the room with him *devious grin before she clears her throat* Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two: Consulting Detectives and Choices**

John easily dodged the pedestrians around him on the sidewalk as he headed toward 221B to look at the flat his Mate had mentioned; to anyone watching him it would seem as if he was absorbed in his cell phone, perhaps a game or a text from a girlfriend. They would have been right that it was a text but it was actually Dorothy he was texting, getting an update on the packs' health and the goings on at the Councils he had missed while in Afghanistan.

ARE YOU GOING TO TELL THE LAD? – DOT

John hesitated mid-step before snorting of course Mike told the woman, she probably would have skinned both him and John had she found out after the fact. Before he could formulate a response, another text appeared.

I WANNA MEET THIS NEW MAN JOHNNY, GOTTA SEE IF HE'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR MY LITTLE BROTHER ;) –HW

John groaned, _why don't you tell the bloody States while you're at it Mikey_ he grumbled internally as he continued down the street. Finally, he came up with responses and quickly sent them out to their intended recipients before shoving the phone into his jacket pocket.

To Dot:

WE'LL SEE – JW

To Harry:

SOD OFF 'RY, YOUR OLDER SIBLING SKILLS NEED TO BE DUSTED OFF BEFORE YOU CAN RE-TAKE THE ROLE ;P – JW

These texts brought his biggest worry to the front of his mind as he neared the flat: should he tell Sherlock? From what he could glean of the human's website, the man was a genius and would figure it out eventually. The question was whether John wanted him to figure it out for himself or whether John would just get it over with and tell him willingly. There was no doubt in the Alpha's mind that his state as a werewolf would be discovered, it only came down to the question of when?

No answer was forthcoming and John had already reached the door, brass numbers labeling it 221B. It was almost in the center of all the action and there was a small sandwich shop right next door: how quaint. It seemed well kept and expensive now that John allowed himself to ponder on it. With only his army pension, would he be able to pay even half the rent? A vibration from his coat pocket drew his attention and he drew if from his pocket.

It was Harry again.

DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT MIKE MENTIONED YOUR ACCOUNTS. THEY ARE OPEN FOR YOU USAGE. DON'T IGNORE IT BABY BROTHER OR I WON'T STOP BUGGING YOU. ENJOY – HW

John stood there a moment to gape at his phone. Bloody hell, had Harry been taking lessons from Dorothy?! Opening his senses for a paranoid moment, John made sure that Harry wasn't anywhere in the vicinity watching him. The phone in his hand alerted him again.

STOP LOOKING AROUND LIKE A WANKER AND KNOCK ON THE BLOODY DOOR JOHNNY. I'M NOT THERE, I JUST KNOW YOU TOO WELL – HW

John snorted at Harry's crass language; perhaps another genetic Watson trait as he himself had a foul mouth when the moment called for it. Fighting the urge to stick his tongue out childishly at his phone lest he get more odd looks from passerby's, John stepped up on the small stair and used the silver knocker in the center of the door to give a solid knock.

He suddenly smelled his mate behind him and the already familiar baritone voice that reached him only confirmed his thoughts, "Hello."

Turning John gave a smile, "Ah, Mr. Holmes," saying this left a horrible taste in his mouth but his Mate had not requested that he be called by his first name and John would respect that…..Dorothy would have his tongue if he didn't. While the old woman spat on a lot of their traditions, manners while courting and even when addressing others was not one of them. Fighting off a shudder John was brought back to reality when the curly haired man strode forward in a few easy steps thanks to his long legs, hand out to be shaken.

John quickly offered his own right hand, thrilled with even minimal contact with his Mate, "Sherlock, please," the baritone voice said politely.

John was practically giddy, his wolf purring contentedly where it lazed about in his subconscious. Quickly trying to cover his near lapse John reluctantly let the man's hand go and glance about, "You have impeccable taste, though I'm afraid I probably won't be able to afford my part of the rent," which wasn't technically a lie because he didn't know what the rent was despite his ability to access his accounts again.

Sherlock was shaking his head from where he stood across from John. The exact footage that was socially acceptable between them as he held his hands behind his back. John found this all together amusing and barely had time to catch what Sherlock was telling him, "Nonsense, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, has offered me a special deal. She owes me a favor," the blasé way he said this only heightened John's amusement with his Mate.

"And what did you do to gain such a favor?" John asked part curious and part teasing, glancing about once again. Years in the army and years as an Alpha protecting his pack go a long way into making a habit that is not so easily breakable. Poor couple across the street was having a row; their relationship was doomed already considering the both of them carried scents that weren't the others in extremely intimate areas.

His attention was once more focused upon Sherlock as the man replied, "Her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida," there was a touch of distaste in his Mate's tone that clued John in that Mr. Hudson hadn't been a particularly friendly man, "I was able to help out."

John nodded thoughtfully to himself, "Got the sentence finalized, then?" he asked off-handedly, looking at his Mate out of the corner of his eyes.

Suddenly those sharp eyes were trained on him once more, seemingly trying to pierce his soul for all the answers on his person. John fought a shiver of arousal that sprang up from this, but damn was his Mate sexy. After a few tense moments a small, surprised and pleased smile came to the man's lips, "I ensured it, yes," he conceded, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement.

John went to say more, perhaps to get more details when the fight behind him took a particularly loud turn that had him turning instinctually, on edge for anything. Just as this happened, however, the door to the flat was opened redrawing John's attention once he had ensured there was nothing life threatening towards his Mate or himself. The elderly woman in the doorway endeared herself to John almost instantly, with the warm way she greeted the self-proclaimed sociopath and the way he responded in kind with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The woman, though seemingly meek, was a force to be reckoned with if the steely glint in her eyes and scent were anything to go by. Yes, Mrs. Hudson would prove to be an amazing woman John could tell, for she reminded him to much of Dorothy not to be.

Sherlock finally pulled back, the cast of his eyes and the dulling of his scent telling John that the private moment had embarrassed his Mate obviously unused to public displays of affection of any sort. No worries, John was determined to cure that soon. Clearing his throat the tall, curly haired man introduced John to the woman, confirming his assumptions she was Mrs. Hudson, "Mrs. Hudson, John Watson," was that a hint of pride in Sherlock's tone?

John suddenly got the feeling eerily similar to the meeting of the parents and knew that Sherlock was showing him off to his mother figure if subconsciously. His wolf wanting to puff with pride John merely offered a greeting, gentle smile to the older woman accepting her invitation to come in. The warm hand on his back equal parts warning and welcome; John chuckled internally _Dorothy is going to love this woman_ he thought, his wolf purring in agreement as yet another new pack bond formed between himself and the woman.

The flat is upstairs. That won't be a problem will it, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked kindly once they all reached the foyer before the staircase that apparently led up to the flat he might share with his Mate.

Despite Sherlock's heat at his side John felt himself tense at the reference to his limp and his once open smile turned slightly strained, "No problem madam, the stairs would actually help rebuild the muscle in my leg," he said in a no less gentile voice than before. The only sign of his discomfort and irritation was in his tensed shoulders and his shadowed smile.

Mrs. Hudson gasped, eyes filled with tears at how her question had affected the man before her, "Oh, of course. I'm so sorry, I just -," she stuttered, wringing her dainty hands together worriedly.

To see the woman who reminded him so much of his maternal grandmother John instantly softened and placed one of his own calloused hands over top of hers to stop their motion, "It's quite alright," he reassured, "I get a lot worse, you have been by far the most polite in bringing it up. Thank you for your consideration, but I like to think my limp is only a temporary weakness," John said, bowing his head in apology.

Mrs. Hudson blushed, charmed by John's gentlemanly manner, and started fluttering about towards another room muttering something about leaving something or other in the kitchen. John chuckled internally; Mother had always ensured his manners were impeccable, as far as she was concerned it was as much an Alpha's duty to know how to delegate as it was to demand something of his pack. Considering his unique position as Alpha to one of the oldest werewolf families and being practically royalty in their circles, even more so.

When he turned there was an odd look in his Mate's eyes but before John could decipher it, Sherlock was bounding up the stairs towards what John assumed would be their flat. Chuckling to himself at his Mate's unbound energy, John made his way up the stairs himself by gripping the railing only stopping when his leg gave a particularly sharp twinge. He finally reached the top to find his Mate waiting at the door, hand ready on the knob. This however didn't grab John's attention; it was the worry and curiosity in Sherlock's eyes veiled only slightly by the human's attempt at disinterest.

John waited until he was on the landing before he spoke casually, no sign of his struggle up the staircase, "Wondering what happened?"

Sherlock's shoulders tensed and his grip on the doorknob became white knuckled, quickly the man turned to open the flat hoping to divert the attention off of him once more. It seemed his Mate wasn't used to being read so easily, another thing John could cure him of. With this a predatory smirk came to John's face before disappearing as he passed over the threshold and into his soon-to-be flat.

The first thought that came to John's mind was: lived in. It was warm and welcoming, the miscellaneous clutter adding to the feeling surprisingly. John had come to hate the stiff, sterile way the military ran things. His wolf and he had fought the urge multiple times to throw something on the floor of his tent just to have _something_ change. Despite the boxes stacked in the corners of the room, books filled the shelves and the desk was covered in a mess of files, maps, and papers. Obviously, Sherlock had already begun to move in and John couldn't be more thankful for it. John particularly loved the touch of a skull on the mantelpiece as he passed by to look into the kitchen. It seemed this too was in a similar state of clutter and had been turned into a chemistry lab for his flatmate if all the beakers and vials filled with oddly colored liquids, the Bunson burner, and the microscope. Even the dark tones of the wallpaper and carpet were wonderful for his heightened senses; even the walls were thick enough that John would be completely able to tune things out if he chose to unlike his bedsit which happened to be next to the train tracks. The couple outside were still at it, it seemed.

Turning he found Sherlock standing there expectantly, nervousness shown by a spike in the nicotine of his scent. Grinning madly John spun one last time, ignoring his leg for the first time in a while, "It's perfect," he claimed confidently after he stopped, looking directly into Sherlock's eyes.

Pride flowed off his Mate in waves before a sheepish grin came to his face as if he remembered something "I could probably tidy up a bit," he conceded, picking up a piece of paper and stabbing it into the mantel with a dagger next to a shadowbox that looked like it had a pinned bat inside.

John snorted and shook his head fondly, "No, that's quite alright, the best part as far as I'm concerned. The skull?" he asked curiously, coming closer to get a closer look.

Suddenly the light in his Mate's eyes were gone again and he was defensive once more as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets, "A friend," he said and went to turn before whipping back to add on, "And when I say friend-," his attempt to explain was cut off by Mrs. Hudson's entrance.

"What do you think, Dr. Watson?" she asked, unconsciously tidying up as she walked in, "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing it," she added on, sending him a wink behind Sherlock's back. Oh, he could definitely come to love this woman.

Chuckling softly, John responded, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," there let Sherlock figure it out whether he would need it or not.

While he and Mrs. Hudson had been speaking Sherlock had been moving about, quickly putting things away. John easily recognized that the chaos was in fact organized to fit Sherlock's mind at this point, it would probably be completely different the next day depending on what the genius felt like. As Mrs. Hudson returned to tutting over the "mess you've made, Sherlock!" John grabbed the Union Jack pillow and placed it in the plush armchair beside the fireplace and sat down to get off his leg for a bit with a grunt. Finally comfortable he watched his whirlwind of a Mate move about easily and gracefully, never stopping.

Deciding to break the silence himself and hopefully get to know the man before him even more, "So Mike told me about your website," he started easily, "The Science of Deduction?"

This made Sherlock pause mid-move and turn his attention back to John once more, much to the Alpha's pleasure. His Mate's genius was unfounded and simply amazed John. Had the Alpha not known better he would have believed Sherlock was a werewolf with the things he saw, smelled, and sensed to solve his cases. His Mate's ability was brilliant to say the least of it!

John noticed the quirk in Sherlock's cupid-bow lips and fought the urge to lick his own in desire, "What did you think?"

John was thrown for a moment before he realized Sherlock was talking about his website that John had just mentioned. _Focus Watson_ he admonished himself opening his mouth to respond.

"While what you do is amazing your pitch is a little harsh. I don't think you'll get as wide a range of cliental as you might wish due to how off-putting your website is at times," John replied with a simple shrug.

A frown that looked eerily like a pout to John appeared on Sherlock's face and John wanted to jump up and snog it off his face. Thankfully, or regretfully John couldn't decide yet, Mrs. Hudson walked in with this morning's newspaper in her hands.

"What about these suicides, then, Sherlock?" she asked, "Thought that might be right up your street," she mused, coming to stand beside where John was seated.

Her scent wafted over him and he closed his eyes and inhaled covertly, relaxed even more now. She smelled of baking, a floral perfume that seemed popular with the older crowds, and something that just screamed _home_. She would definitely mother them and when Dorothy came to visit the two of them were sure to hit it off instantly; John was resigned now all he had to do was get Sherlock to go along with it as well.

"Three exactly the same-," before she continue Sherlock, from his place gazing out the window, spoke up sharply, "Four."

The sound of someone entering Baker Street drew John's attention and the suspicious quieting of the couple's row from outside cued him into realizing they would soon have company. The scent of Second Beta reached his nose and John realized this Beta had recently lost an Alpha, or defeated one John thought grimly as the bond that would usually only turn gray with a natural loss of an Alpha was torn; it had been forcibly severed by the pack member. Sherlock, unaware to John's observations had continued to speak to Mrs. Hudson.

"There's been a fourth, and there's something different this time," at this John quickly pulled out his phone and shot out a quick text.

GRAB DAMIEN AND TELL THE REST OF THE PACK TO BE ON THEIR GUARD, 'RY. OH, AND THE FIGHTING COUPLE ONLY WORKS IF I CAN'T SMELL YOU :P –JW

As John put away his phone he turned simultaneously with Sherlock to the open flat door to see a man with silver hair stride in purposefully. John fought the whimper of sympathy that wanted to escape him; the man was dying prematurely due to his severed pack bond. If no one interfered soon the Beta would soon become one of the crazed Beastes that drew the hunters' attentions to werewolves in the first place.

Sherlock spoke up sharply drawing John's attention from the fading Beta, "Where?" he demanded.

"Brixton, Lorristen Gardens," the Beta answered quickly and professionally despite the harsh tone Sherlock had used with him. There was patience in this man that John could respect, and if lightness of his scent was anything to go by than he was a lighthearted and kind man was well.

"What's new about this one?" Sherlock asked, hands in his slack pockets (he had removed his coat sometime during his packing), "You wouldn't have come to me unless there was something different."

The silver haired Beta tensed, having finally caught John's dominant scent, and desperately tried to remain cool before Sherlock's piercing gaze, "You know how they never leave a note?" at Sherlock's sharp nod the wolf continued, "Well this one did."

A spark came to Sherlock's eyes that instantly drew John's attention to his Mate in the most positive way, the man was interested, "Who's on forensics?" he asked, getting even more excited as the time passed.

Reluctantly the werewolf, obviously the lead detective on the case of the serial suicides that had been the front page news in Britain for a few months, huffed a response, "Anderson."

An attractive sneer crossed Sherlock's features, making it seem as if he were biting back a snarl, "Anderson won't work with me," he griped.

Lestrade, the name was on the paper Mrs. Hudson had unknowingly flashed in John's direction, rolled his eyes much like a father dealing with a petulant child, "He won't be your assistant," he insisted.

Sherlock crossed his arms irritated, "I need an assistant!" he claimed haughtily.

John held back a snort and watched it all play out, Mrs. Hudson beside him obviously equally amused by the show before them. The DI quickly cut to the chase, too fed up to continue with Sherlock's word play, "Will you come?" he asked exasperated.

Sherlock scoffed, "Not in the police car. I'll be right behind you," he said in a composed voice that spoke of an aristocratic upbringing if John ever heard one.

Here Sherlock turned back to the window, hands back in his pockets while the Beta slumped in relief before his eyes met John's in passing and he tensed once more. Smiling gently, John gentled his scent to more of a caress trying to reassure and sooth the nervous Beta. With a vague smile of his own Lestrade bowed his head in a show of respect towards John which the Alpha accepted with a small nod of his own before the inspector was gone and dashing down the stairs.

Suddenly, as if a curtain had fallen or someone had yelled "cut!" Sherlock was jumping about like a child on Christmas, amusing both John and his wolf profusely with his dancing about the apartment to gather what he would need. While his Mate spoke quickly with Mrs. Hudson John once more withdrew his phone to send another text to Damien.

NEED DI LESTRADE'S NUMBER. POSSIBLE NEW PACKMATE. EYES OPEN –JW

John was brought back by Sherlock's call of, "Don't wait up!" before a door slammed shut behind his rambunctious Mate.

With the loss of the light Sherlock seemed to carry with him whenever John was in the room, the numb in his chest disappeared and the throbbing began again. _Best get used to it Watson,_ he snarked at himself internally, _it'll be a while yet before you can gain that exotic creature's affections._

"I'll make you that cuppa, dear. You rest your leg," Mrs. Hudson's voice barely pieced his inner musings but it was enough to bring him back from his depressing thoughts. The fact that his wolf was whimpering meant he had been too close falling.

Clearing his throat John thanked the elderly woman before picking up the newspaper she had left to read more on the serial suicide case in hopes to be close to his Mate in some manner whether that be as a sounding board when he returned or discussing it over morning tea. All of these thoughts flew out of his head the moment John scented his Mate's scent and heard the long legs approach and suddenly Sherlock was back and his chest was full and numb once more. Glancing over John found Sherlock leaning on the doorframe and observing him silently and thoroughly, so thorough in fact John felt the urge to still as if sitting as a model for a painting. After a moment of electrifying eye contact John finally raised an inquiring bow.

"You're a doctor," it was obvious Sherlock was absorbed in his thoughts by the way his eyes seemed slightly far away and John's other eyebrow joined its partner, "In fact you're an army doctor."

John chuckled as he set aside the paper and leaned back further in the chair to get comfortable for what was sure to be an odd conversation, "I believe we established that was my career, yes. Though I always did have the urge to be Dracula when I was a child," he said sarcastically, adding a teasing wink to reveal his joke.

It was obvious his joke was lost to anyone who didn't know his secret because Sherlock continued on the former strain, "Any good?" This brought John up short.

"So I've been told, saved a few lives in Afghanistan," John hedged, confused beyond belief. Why did his Mate want to know these things? Didn't he have a case he needed to get to?

"You've seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths," Sherlock continued his inquiry, unconsciously moving closer to John as if being drawn.

John stood so his wolf would not get defensive at the submissive role it would put him in with Sherlock gazing down on him, "Yes…," and not just as an army doctor, he added silently to himself; incidents when his pack had been wounded or killed by hunters vivid in his mindscape. Particularly, the moment when his father became the Alpha….his grandfather had died right in front of him, there had been so much blood in that moment and John knew from that point on he would be a doctor so he would never be so helpless to save someone he loved ever again.

"Bit of trouble too, I imagine," Sherlock insinuated, now toe-to-toe with John. John was divided in his reactions. One part of him was amazed that his wolf wasn't coming forth to assert its dominance but then he realized had he done such a thing his Mate would no longer be _his_ Mate, only a mere shadow. Another finally came to the realization where Sherlock might be going with his consistent questions. The final part of him was stuck in flashes of the dusty battlefield of Afghanistan, the bloody encounters with hunters, and the dangerous escapes from the Cage.

He was finally able to choke out an answer, though it was short, "Plenty." And it was true.

Sherlock tilted his head, eyes shining with a manic light, "Want to see some more?"

A thrill shot down John's spine. A chance to see his Mate in action, to see the man's amazing abilities in person? Definitely. The fact that he wouldn't just be sitting around helped a bit as well; even as a lad John had hated sitting about, he had to be _doing_ something. Harry called him a "man of action" and it was true, though John tried to think his actions through vast majority of the time he had learned that sometimes the most reliable resource was ones instincts, especially for werewolves. That's why he had become Alpha instead of Harry as his father originally wanted after John went off to war, the pack would have no one else as their leader and the pack had final say.

"Oh God, yes!" he managed breathlessly before he grabbed his own coat and was rushing after his Mate.

As he bounded down the stairs he was amazed at how spry his landing was and that his muscle hadn't spasmed even a tic. Before he could dash through the door he remembered to give a shoat to Mrs. Hudson about a rain check on the tea before he shut it and threw on his coat. Just in time it would seem because a taxi pulled up to where his Mate stood with hand outstretched as John made it down the small stair in front of the door.

Clambering in behind the curly haired man, John made no sound of complaint when he got a particularly fine view of the man's firm rump. His wolf was practically salivating at the thought of knotting that fine piece of ass and John and to gather himself to hide his arousal. _Dorothy and Mrs. Hudson in bikinis!_ Almost instantly his wolf recoiled in disgust, whimpering at the image of its two mother figures so scantily clad. Sighing in relief John settled in more relaxed for the long ride.

Their comfortable silence lasted a while, only interrupted by John's occasion glance towards his Mate who seemed to be absorbed with something on his phone. This routine continued until it was completely dark outside the cab windows and Sherlock was surprisingly the one to break the silence, "You have questions?"

John nodded, not going to act surprised because of course the genius noticed, "Yeah, a few," he said laughing, "What do you do?" he asked, tilting his head to get a better view of his Mate's face.

Sherlock, for his part, turned a narrowed gaze onto John that made the cutest wrinkle appear on the bridge of his nose, "Not: where are we going?" he asked suspiciously.

John snorted, rolling his eyes, "I thought I'd save us the time considering I heard you tell the cabbie Lorristen Gardens, so I figure we're headed toward that crime scene DI Lestrade was talking about. _So_, what do you do?"

A shocked respect appeared in his Mate's eyes as well as a hint of challenge that had John's wolf standing at attention once more for a chance to prove himself to the man he wished to court.

"What do you think?" Sherlock shot back, eyes teasing and dancing with mirth.

John hummed to himself, "Well, I would say private detective-," before John could get any more out Sherlock cut him off with his smooth baritone, "But?"

Here John met the silver-blue eyes of his Mate head on, "But the police don't go to private detectives."

A hint of smugness fell over Sherlock's features as he boasted, for that's indeed what the man was doing, "I'm a consulting detective; the only one in the world, I invented the job."

John nodded thoughtfully, "So say the police have a hard time with a case they come to you for your deductive skills," the Alpha concluded.

There was a spike of the pine trees in Sherlock's scent, it seemed John had pleasantly shocked his Mate. He would endeavor to do so again if it meant the man's intoxicating scent would only grow.

"Exactly," the smooth baritone filled small cab, a quirk of his Mate's lips told the Alpha Sherlock was pleased.

John smiled at the man before asking his next question, "Is that how you knew about Afghanistan?" he had been wondering since the encounter in the lab.

Sherlock bowed his head in acknowledgement, crooked smile growing, "For someone of average intelligence you have exceptional deductive skills, Doctor," there was warmth in Sherlock's eyes and tone, as if a shield had been dropped suddenly.

Pride glowing in John's chest the Alpha chuckled in a self-depreciative way, "I highly doubt they are as great as you make them out to be. I just muddle about until pieces fit," he muttered, flushing embarrassed and unused to such positive attention directed at him personally. Compliments paid to his pack had him beaming but had anyone made a comment about his Alpha skills he was constantly changing the attention to others he deemed more worthy of the attention. Years of having your father brow-beat you make it hard to take any form of compliment.

"Better than a good many of the idiots I have to deal with, I assure you," the consulting detective snarked, eyes still warm as they met John's.

John couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips, he was sure his eyes were twinkling as he spoke up with humor, "Well thank you ever so much, I have an inkling that was one of the highest compliments someone could gain from you," he chuckled, flushing darker under his Mate's warm gaze.

Clearing his throat after a moment John tried desperately to divert the attention from him once more, "Could you walk me through your deductions of me?" he wondered, tilting his head to the side with an eager grin. He wanted to see how his Mate's mind worked when it came to such things.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, as if not expecting that request but suddenly he was speaking rapidly, as if he didn't get it out now he would never get the chance to do so again.

"You haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. Your conversation as you entered the room," here Sherlock paused as John recalled his first words when he walked into the lab: _Bit different from my day_ before Sherlock was speaking once again, "said trained at Bart's, so army doctor, obvious. You face is tanned but no tan above the wrist," John fought the urge to pull up his sleeve just to see if what his Mate said was true, he had never really taken notice, "You've been abroad but no sunbathing. You're limp's only partially bad when you walk and you keep all your weight on the other foot however you don't draw attention to it, so it's easily mistaken for being psychosomatic. That says that the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan…..Afghanistan or Iraq," John sat there gaping, speechless for a moment.

"Wait, you said I had a therapist," John said, how on Earth could he know that?

"Your limp seems psychosomatic, of course you've got a therapist," here Sherlock's tone became a bit of a sneer but John knew it was mainly because his Mate was merely in a zone of sorts as he gave his deductions no longer focusing his mind partly upon social niceties, too busy internally remembering the facts.

Sherlock however was not through as he opened his plump lips to continue, "Then there's your brother," here John made a hum, slightly confused but letting his Mate carry one, "Your phone: expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player," here John fought the urge to scratch his head, what did he care he just needed a way to contact his pack, it could be a burn phone for all that mattered. He handed it to the waiting Sherlock whose hand was open so he could show Watson what he was talking about, "And you're looking for a flatshare. You wouldn't waste money on this, it's a gift then. Scratches; not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat a luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner," John felt a bit warm in the chest at the man's easy, if unintentional compliment but John took pride in the simple things, "The next bits easy, you know it already," here Sherlock paused once more looking at John expectantly.

And John did know it already having balked at it the moment he got it from Harry, "The engraving."

"Harry Watson – clearly family member whose given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget; could be a cousin but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live not likely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to. So brother it is," part of John wanted to cut Sherlock off here to correct him but he realized his Mate was on a role and decided to wait until the man was through, "Now Clara…whose Clara?," John tried not to flinch to overtly at the mention of the woman's name, touchy subject that, "Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend," John was torn between another wince and a gape of amazement for his Mate's reasoning, "She must have given it to him recently, this models only six months old," bloody hell the human kept up with that? Then again could possibly mean the answer to a case so it _was _plausible, "Marriage and trouble then. Six months old, he's just given it away? If she left him, he would have kept it; people do, sentiment," John wanted to raise an eyebrow at the dismissive way Sherlock said this but kept his features neutral, "But no, he wanted rid of it: he left her. He gave the phone to you that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodations, and you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking," or maybe you just didn't want to open that can of worms within Council hearing or seem like a mooch John added mentally.

"Why do you say drinking?" John asked curious, not admitting or denying anything.

"Power connection, tiny little scuff marks around the edges. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go," Sherlock handed John back his phone and the Alpha promptly checked for messages from pack before sliding it back into his pocket, "That's how my deductions work."

"That…" John began staring ahead in a daze for a moment, "was brilliant," he finally came out with bluntly.

"What?" the confused and dumbfounded look on Sherlock's face hurt John, did people not really appreciate the man's genius.

"It was, it was absolutely brilliant."

"That's not what people usually say," Sherlock said, finally shaking out of his stupor and looking out the window to conceal the old hurt and the slight pride that shone through the human's scent.

"What do people usually say?" John asked, curious. He was by no means normal but even other humans had to realize just how gifted they were to have a man like this choosing to solve murders rather than commit them.

"Piss off," Sherlock sent a sharp glance over to John with a bitter smile that had John biting back a growl at the mentioned people. Dumbarses the lot of them.

They sat in silence for a bit longer before Sherlock spoke up, "Did I get anything wrong?" there was a sense of pride in his tone and John almost froze. This was it. Did he tell him?

_Thought you were a man of action Alpha_ there was Harry's voice again, mocking him internally. Sticking his tongue out at it John decided to take the plunge.

"A few things actually, but I think that's because you didn't have all the data," the Alpha rushed to add at the look of anger in Sherlock's eyes.

Impatient Sherlock didn't move from his seat despite the fact they had arrived, waving his hand for John to continue. Taking a deep breath, John did, "I'm a werewolf," Sherlock's eyes widened, "an Alpha to be more precise," here John flashed his crimson eyes and let a fang peek out from his lips before his face was humanoid once more. Before Sherlock could comment John rushed on, wanting to get it all out before his Mate could shun him, "I consider my pack extended family in every sense and we are all very close but I'm the Alpha so it wouldn't look great for me to ask them for help, could get another pack thinking they could usurp me. As for Harry; well, Harry is short for Harriet and she did leave Clara but only because Harry recently found her Mate, and Clara knew this before they married but she still seemed angered by the divorce (probably thought she was Harry's Mate). And Harry doesn't drink, too many bad memories of our Da that way, we were caught by hunters when we were kids and they," here John choked a bit, clenching his eyes as he plowed forward, "they injected silver in her hand to get her to talk, a lot of the muscles were killed and as a result it shakes terribly."

Silence filled the cab as it idled a few yards from the crime scene, John still had his eyes closed and he could hear Sherlock's even breathing beside him. _Some good news there, Watson_ he thought to himself hysterically _he didn't run off screaming_. After a while it was too much and John opened his eyes to meet the sharp blue of his soon-to-be-ex-flatmate if things went the way John thought they would, however there was none of the disgust or condemnation he feared would be there. In fact his Mate looked particularly fascinated.

"You thought I would shun you?" the deep baritone cut through any of defenses John might have put up.

John gave a nervous smile, "I don't have the best track record when revealing the big secret," he said softly, a sad smile on his lips as he stared out the front window, "Usually ends up getting my pack hurt," the way he said this made it obvious he thought he should be the one to be hurt instead.

Sherlock sneered, "The only people who fear werewolves are the pea-brained plebeians that still believe in the Boogey Man," he rolled his eyes, disdain dripping from each word.

John bit back a laugh but a snort escaped and that was it for his control and he was laughing hysterically, partly out of relief and partly out of actual amusement. He bent over to clutch his stomach, letting his forehead rest against the back of the passenger seat. He laughed for a while before leaning back to an upright position and wiping the tears from his eyes, smiling broadly at a confused Sherlock.

"Thanks," he whispered, "I really needed that."

Sherlock sat staring at him for a moment before offering him the most breathtaking smile John had ever witnessed, "Your welcome."

**-End of This Chapter-**

**DeRanged: Oh just to clarify, don't think you guys really need it but here it is!**

TEXTING

_Thinking_

"**Talking when Wolfed Out"**

_**~Wolf Talking to Human~**_

-Telepathy with Pack-

"Normal Speaking"

Narration

**DeRanged: There you go, if I need to add an Author's Note in the middle of the text it will be offset by parenthesis with an "A/N:" at the beginning and the text will be in bold. Thanks for reading! Review please.**


	3. Chapter 3 Part 1

**DeRanged: Another chapter, this is coming really well and I'm sorry it took a bit longer to update. As of late my computer has been wonky but I'm trying to get it fixed.**

**Sherlock: Oh do shut up Miss. DeRanged. They don't want to hear your woes, let them read!**

**DeRanged: *glares at Sherlock but deflates* You are simply to adorable to stay angry at. *dramatic sigh* Anyway, John you're up.**

**John: Miss. DeRanged does not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the Holmsian characters in this tale but for Billy and Brian.**

**DeRanged: Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three: Mysteries and Meetings Part One**

**RECAP**

"_Thanks," he whispered, "I really needed that."_

_ Sherlock sat staring at him for a moment before offering him the most breathtaking smile John had ever witnessed, "Your welcome."_

**PRESENT**

"That's all well and good, mates, but could ya' bloody pay me? I gots more rounds ta make," the cabbie grumbled, and despite the man's attempts to deepen his voice John recognized it instantly.

Sniffing the air he grabbed Sherlock's wrist gently as the man went to pay the driver, shaking his head slightly. With only that to answer Sherlock's questioning look John climbed out, opened the driver's door, and grabbed the man behind the wheel by the scruff of his neck. Yanking him forward John shoved the lad on the hood of the cab and set amused eyes on the teenager that lay slack in his Alpha's grip.

"Billy, please tell me you at least had manners enough not to shove the poor bastard who owns this cab into his own trunk," John said, fixing an amused gaze on the young boy in his grip.

"'Course not Uncle John!" Billy exclaimed mocking offense only to get rolling eyes for his efforts, "He's in someone else's trunk," the teen said cheekily.

John stared at the teen for a moment attempting a reprimanding glare only to break out into laughter soon after. Letting the boy off the hood, John shook his head and fought to calm his laughter as Sherlock climbed out of the car to watch the exchange between himself and Billy. Using the boy's newsboy cap to ruffle the mop of ebony hair beneath John grinned down at one of his cubs in pride. Ever since he was young Billy was determined to follow in John and Mike's footsteps as prankster of the Watson Pack along with a few of the other cubs.

"Mikey finally broke and told you about the New Year's Prank, eh?" John asked amused, easily catching the cub as he launched himself into his Alpha's chest and nuzzled there to reaffirm their bond as pack. The cubs were by far the most tactile of the whole pack, needing constant confirmation of their place in their Alpha's eyes.

"Mhmm," Billy hummed happily, peeking out a Sherlock curiously with wide forest green eyes.

It seemed Sherlock shared that curiosity because he met the cub's gaze head on, tilting his head slightly in an utterly cute manner. John ignored his wolf's howls of appreciation and untangled one arm from the cub, but keeping him close to his side, so he could introduce the two curious people.

"Billy, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Billy. He's a cub in my pack," John said smiling gently under his Mate's attention.

Sherlock held out a hand to the small boy, face composed and serious but there was gentleness in his eyes as he looked down at Billy. Billy stared at Sherlock, eyes moving between the man and his hand for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. After untangling himself from his Alpha's hold after a nuzzle into John's side, Billy ducked beneath Sherlock's offered hand and hugged the man around the middle, nuzzling into his chest. John saw the shock register on his Mate's face and only had his theory confirmed, Sherlock wasn't used to being touched so willingly. Not for the first time John and his wolf were in agreement that they would soon cure their Mate of this, wolves were tactile creatures especially around their packs.

John was distracted from such plans when he noticed Sherlock hesitantly raising his arms to embrace the boy, silver eyes trained on John questioningly. It hurt John the man felt he needed permission, but then Sherlock hadn't figured out he would soon be the Alpha Mate in John's pack. With this in mind John smiled encouragingly and Sherlock promptly wrapped long, lean arms around Billy's shoulders. Billy obviously loved this because he soon started purring and snuggling closer to Sherlock, inhaling deeply. All wolves could tell who their Alpha's Mate was; there was a distinct scent upon them after the Alpha came in contact that relaxed the wolves of the pack in a way that was almost embarrassing.

Watching this John couldn't help but imagine for a moment that Sherlock and he were mated and that Billy was their cub Sherlock was holding. His inner wolf purring happily at the image John reluctantly broke the two apart, "Alright Billy, you need to head back," the Alpha spoke gently.

With a whimper Billy gave one last nuzzle into Sherlock's chest, inhaling deeply to keep the scent in his memory before pulling back and grinning excitedly up at Sherlock, "Can't wait to see you at full moon, Uncle Sherlock!" the boy chirped before turning to his grinning Alpha to say goodbye.

John fought off the laughter that bubbled up inside at Sherlock's dumbstruck look, pulling Billy into his arms and kissing him on the temple as a reward. As the teen climbed into the cab once more John held the door before Billy could shut it, locking a serious gaze on the cub.

"I expect you to go return the cab safely to its owner with all the money you earned on the dashboard, and I mean all of it William Summers no cuts for yourself, and a heartfelt apology to the cabbie. Your mum will be there to pick you up once you get there, so don't be late," John's eyes flashed crimson to show how serious he was about this order. Pranks were all good and fun but his cubs would not become delinquents.

Billy groaned pitifully at the mention of his mother, but nodded nonetheless as he buckled his seatbelt. John shut the door then and patted the hood of the cab gently, praying to Artemis that his cub would be safe. With this he whipped out his phone to send a quick text to Billy's mum, Molly would be none too happy.

BILLY NEEDS TO BE PICKED UP. HE STOLE A CAB, DON'T BE TOO HARD ON HIM – JW

The reply was quick and sharp and had John's Alpha instincts flaring, he had to fight down his rage.

DON'T YOU TELL ME HOW TO DISCIPLINE MY CHILDREN WATSON –MS

Typing a quick reply, John growled slightly as he pressed send.

WATCH YOUR TONE MOLLY – JW

With this he slipped his phone in his pocket, ignoring the vibration as he was sure Molly replied, and turned his attention to Sherlock who was now observing him with sharp silver eyes.

"What did Billy mean by seeing me next full moon?" was the first question the man asked as they began to walk toward the crime scene sectioned off by familiar yellow police tape.

John smiled, looking at his taller Mate out of the corner of his eye, "It is a tradition among most werewolf packs to gather on the full moon at the Alpha's family home. While there are meetings outside of this one, generally this is one set in stone. The full moon, as you know, is a symbol to werewolves so we honor it by doing important meetings and runs on such nights. The Watson Pack is no different," John knew he had tiptoed around Sherlock's real question but he also knew that his Mate was smart enough to figure it out himself.

Sherlock froze a step before he continued with his confident stride, turning to walk backwards a ways and to meet John's blue eyes with his own silver. There was a vulnerability there that nearly broke John's barriers and had him whimpering, "You consider me part of your pack?" there was that same shy, quietness about his Mate as there had been in the cab as they came over when John had called the man brilliant for his deductions.

John swore he would tear apart the people that had reduced his proud Mate to such an insecure man before him, "Of course, why do you think Billy was nuzzling you like he was? He was trying to make you smell more like Pack," John amended the truth slightly.

A glow came from his Mate that made John proud to put it there, and Sherlock turned to walk directly beside John only to pause and try to walk a bit behind him. John chuckled and turned his head to stare at his Mate, "What are you doing Sherlock?" he asked, eyes twinkling,

Sherlock tilted his head, consternation twisting his sharp, adorable features, "Shouldn't packmates walk slightly behind their Alpha to show their respect and the hierarchy? I have seen a few werewolves walking like that when I was studying werewolves and assumed I should do the same now that I am part of your pack," Sherlock stated, deep baritone slightly irked.

John rolled his eyes and gently pulled Sherlock even with him once more, "Werewolves have a council made up of the elders of the werewolf world. They are trenched in their traditions which I find frankly archaic. I do not need my pack to walk behind me to know that I am Alpha nor are they inferior to me; you are not inferior to me. Some traditions, such as slavery, were meant to be abandoned," John growled passionately, staring angrily ahead as he thought over some of the traditions he would rather see abolished.

There was silence beside him which caused him to turn his head to see Sherlock staring at him with an odd look in his eyes that set John's blood on fire. Quickly, to distract himself John cleared his throat, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice that John still held his wrist, "So what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

A woman's voice cut off an response Sherlock may have given as they appeared at the edge of the scene, "Hello freak," it was obvious she was addressing Sherlock and John bristled angrily at the term used in reference to his Mate. How dare the Beta!

Sherlock, however, seemed used to such insults though John felt the man tense under his fingers, "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said shortly.

"Why?" the woman asked in an equally short tone, eyes challenging in such a manner that John's Alpha instincts were screaming at him to put the Beta in her place.

"I was invited," Sherlock said, exasperation obvious in his tone.

"Why?" the woman continued, eyes glaring at Sherlock and not even acknowledging John. For once the Alpha was okay with that as he caught the same scent on the woman as he had on Lestrade when he came into the flat. This must be one of his packmates whose Alpha had been…..demoted to put into layman terms. Interesting.

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock's sarcastic reply almost had John laughing hysterically.

"Well you know what I think, don't you?" the woman replied tartly, hands on hips in a superior manner.

Sherlock's lip came up in a minute sneer of anger as he spoke snarkily, "Always Sally," here he moved himself under the tape only to pause and John caught him sniffing the air around her, "Even know you didn't make it home last night."

This seem to throw Sally off because John began to smell fear and nervousness coming from the Beta, she had still yet to identify him as an Alpha let alone a werewolf; this Beta's senses were disgustingly blunted. What exactly had their Alpha done? Stuck his thumbs up his arse and watched his pack regress into near Omegas?

That was when John noticed Sherlock holding the tape up for him and felt warmth fill his chest, momentarily banishing his morbid thoughts. Taking a step forward Sally began to stutter, "Who's this?"

Sherlock turned icy eyes to the woman, whether for questioning him or taking that tone with John the Alpha couldn't tell, "A….friend of mine Doctor Watson," Sherlock's hesitation before the word friend made John realize the truth behind the statement. A pride made John want to puff out his chest cockily, he could sense that Sherlock did not label people as true friends easily, "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan," Sherlock gestured between John and the woman, sneering toward the end, "An old friend."

"A friend?" the disbelief in Donovan's tone set John's teeth on edge and he fought the transformation desperately, not wishing to draw further attention to themselves, "How do you get a friend?" she sneered in an ugly manner toward Sherlock before turning malicious eyes onto John, "What did _he_ follow you home?" she gestured mockingly towards Sherlock's frozen frame.

That was the final straw for John's control, his eyes flashed crimson and his fangs peeked out from his lips as he spoke coldly, **"Why hoping to get rid of the Omega you're screwing?"** he replied silkily, raising a disparaging brow, his voice deeper and coated with power as he shifted into his half-breed form.

The woman before him paled instantly, realizing she had just disrespected an Alpha, not just any Alpha either, one of the elite. It seemed she hadn't been listening when Sherlock had dropped his name. Oh well, her mistake.

She tried to gather herself as John strode easily under the tape, not even casting further glance in her direction. All his training as a child coming to play as he stood arrogantly and aristocratically beside his Mate, not even attempting to hide his wolfish features as Sally gathered her wits about her once more.

Shakily she raised the radio to her lips to tell someone on the other side, "Freaks here, bringing him in."

Before she could take a step however John had her by the back of the neck with his claws scrapping the skin threateningly but not bringing up blood, **"Use that tone towards one of my pack again you lowly bitch and I will rip your tongue from your mouth, do I make myself clear Beta?" **he snarled, letting his wolf come out to defend their Mate.

The Beta's eyes flashed gold in her fear but she stood tall, eyes challenging. Despite the disrespect John could not help but to admire her, he could see why she had kept her Beta status at all considering, "Y-you can't do that," she said shakily, slowly gaining back confidence that was misplaced, "you have no jurisdiction over my pack!"

John raised a brow, **"Was your Alpha so pathetic he did not even teach you the most basic of werewolf law?" **the Alpha sneered, face getting close to the woman's, **"As only remaining Alpha of this territory your pack falls beneath my jurisdiction until such a time when another Alpha is chosen, which can only happen at full moon. As such I can punish you as I see fit,"** he snarled threateningly.

The Beta whimpered and quickly showed her neck in an obvious sign of submission, eyes tightly shut and turned away. Seeing this John easily calmed himself and his grip on her neck gentled to an apologetic stroke as he spoke in a far more soothing and hypnotic tone, **"You would call another living being a freak merely because he is different when we ourselves only recently escaped such fates; or do you not recall the Cage?" **the Beta in his hold shivered at the mention of the hated place, a hell known only to werewolves with bad enough luck.

Continuing to whimper, tears now coating her eyes along with true repentance Sally turned to Sherlock and whispered, "I'm sorry Holmes," before turning to John standing there powerfully before her and bowing her head, "I'm sorry Alpha Watson for my disrespect. I will not claim ignorance as that would merely be an excuse, I will accept my punishment," she said toneless, eyes dead.

John felt his heart wrench, what the hell had that Alpha done?! Pulling the woman forward and stroking her hair soothingly John purred reassuringly, "No punishment will be dealt, you have already repented genuinely. A punishment would be a stupid, harsh redundancy," the Alpha said gently; finally back to his human form now that his protective instinct for his Mate abated.

Sally wrenched back to stare up at the Alpha holding her platonically in shock; "Really?" the disbelief in her tone was innocent and filled with a childish hope.

John nodded and glanced up to see Sherlock's eyes moving a mile a minute as he watched their whole interaction. The Alpha smiled fondly at his Mate before he released Sally from his arms and move to stand proudly beside Sherlock once more, gesturing kindly for Sally to show them the way. Sally grinned, much like a child with their parents' attention, and bowed her head respectfully before leading them towards the building they would find the body in.

As they walked forward a man came out in a blue hazmat suit and began pulling off his latex gloves, eyes trained maliciously on John's Mate in such a way that had his fur bristling again. For now John remained silent in his observations, ready to jump to his Mate's defense at a moment's notice, while Sherlock greeted this new person, "Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," there was an obvious distaste in Sherlock's tone.

Ignoring Sherlock's greeting, the man (Anderson) sneered and said snootily, "It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" his demand was weak though he attempted to puff out his chest importantly.

John muffled a snicker as Sherlock rolled his eyes degradingly at the man before them, replying with a sharp, "Quite clear," turning and looking around only to turn back quickly with a mock curious look on his face, "And is your wife away for long?"

John paused in shock, his eyes narrowing. But before he could focus further Anderson was speaking again, "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you," obviously this man did not believe in Sherlock's skills as greatly as his boss (and packmate if their similar scent was anything to go by).

Sherlock gave the man a superior smirk as he spoke calmly; "Your deodorant told me that," at this John was confused and gave a sniff of his own. Only to freeze when he realized this was the Omega that Sally had been lying with…..and he was Mated! Fury made it almost impossible to focus but he would allow his Mate to get his licks in before he tore this useless Omega to shreds.

The Omega stopped short on whatever he was about to say, face scrunched in confusion, "My deodorant?"

Sherlock put on a mock chipper air as he turned and grinned, "It's for men!"

John fought a snort as Anderson replied, "Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" he was really irritated now, if his scent was anything to go by.

Sherlock raised a brow, "So is Sergeant Donovan," he replied only to scrunch his nose, "Oh and I think it just vaporized. May we go in now?" John's Mate looked down his nose at Anderson in a manner that had John aroused almost instantly. But the Alpha had something to do.

"Not quite yet Sherlock," he said, eyes flashing crimson as he approached the Omega that was staring at him in utter fear. _He should be afraid_ John sneered internally to his wolf, _only the sickest wolves betray their Mates!_ He promptly grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him in the air; very impressive considering John was shorter than him by more than a few inches, but he was an Alpha and with that came strength beyond belief.

Eyes crimson and features becoming more feral by each passing second John snarled at the Omega, **"You would dare betray your Mate?!"** this was one tradition, fidelity to ones Mate, that John would not bend on. Werewolves had Mates for a reason!

He heard a gasp come from Sally; it was angered shocked and full of a righteous anger. _So she didn't know he had a Mate, well the Council will know of that the moment this filth gains a trial_ John thought before turning his attention once more to the stuttering Beta in his hands.

Whimpering, the Omega managed to get a response out, "Sh-she's human. She d-doesn't get m-my nee-needs!" the Omega whined pathetically.

This infuriated John further and his hand clenched, **"Of course not! She's not meant to be another werewolf; she's supposed to balance you! If Diana thought you needed another werewolf she would have been a werewolf. She's human, that does not give you the excuse to commit the ultimate taboo you piece of shite!"** John's fangs were bared now.

As the Omega gestured pathetically John felt Sherlock approach but would not allow his Mate's presence to calm him just yet, "B-But Alpha Leon s-said th-that I should find my s-satisfaction if-if my M-Mate wasn't doing it for me," here the arrogance John had seen before seemed to be returning.

John raised a disgusted brow, **"Do not think yourself important Omega merely because your former Alpha was an idiot,"** John's tone was sharp and cut to the bone as he released the Omega, standing over Anderson's cowering form, **"You will face the Council for your crimes, not only against your Mate but against your fellow packmate and ranking pack member,"** John's tone was final and held the command of the Alpha that no one, especially an Omega could fight.

Anderson's eyes were filled with hatred and defiance, "I will not!" he snarled and stumbled around John, making a break toward the yellow tape only to be tackled by a bulking form of one of John's Beta. John strolled over easily, any sign of his limp gone in such a situation; crouching down, John tilted his head at the Omega with crimson eyes glowing almost demonically in the night.

**"Did you really think that as an Alpha, I wouldn't have any of my Betas trailing me? I can barely go to the bathroom without at least two on the street outside. You made a mistake running Omega, before you may have been able to play it off as your Alpha's influence but running has only made you guiltier,"** John's voice was soft and irritated, but he no longer carried the fury he had not seconds ago.

With his mate behind him and unconsciously sending out waves of calm, John allowed his wolf to finally recede as he glanced up at his bulky Beta. Meeting the Beta's cocky grin with his own amused, fond smile John stood and laid a hand on his shoulder, conveying his pride and love as an Alpha. By this point the man was practically beaming as a car drove up.

"Take him back with you Bri, would you? And make sure he's…comfortable in the Council's cells," John said, patting the Brian on the shoulder before turning back to Sherlock and a tearful Sally.

"Alpha," she sobbed, hands over her face, "I swear I didn't know! He told me his wife hadn't been his Mate like he thought and he was going to divorce her," by now she was hysteric.

John strode forward and knocked her on the head with his knuckles, shocking her enough that she stopped and looked up at him with wide eyes, "I do not blame you for that worthless shit's actions and I will stand up for you should it be required in the subsequent trial, I will stand up for you. You need not fear Sergeant Donovan," John reassured gently.

Sally nodded, feeling stronger, and wiped away any remaining tears, "The boss'll be waiting for you; you and Sherlock should head in now," she said in a whisper, giving one last nod of respect before heading back towards the taped off areas to gain her bearings.

John nodded to himself, glanced back once more to make sure Brian had everything handled and got a wave in response. Reassured himself now, John turned back to Sherlock expectantly only to meet extremely close, silver orbs. Not at all perturbed as most humans would be at such nearness, John tilted his head curiously only backing up a fraction so he could get a better look at Sherlock's face, "Yes?" he asked, noticing the odd look on his Mate's face.

"You are a good Alpha," Sherlock said in a decisive tone, a small smile coming to his full lips as he took a step back.

Internally John mourned the loss of the man's intoxicating scent, externally John was too busy blushing to think, "I'm alright," he managed to get out without stuttering as they made their way into the building, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, "I just have a damn god pack that will put up with me," he said, winking sideways at Sherlock as they made their way through.

Apparently this did not sit well with Sherlock because he stopped and grabbed John's arm gently, the warmth from his hand searing through the Alpha enticingly, "Limited though my knowledge of werewolves may be, from what I have observed one can always tell the worth of the Alpha by the…..reactions of his pack towards him. Billy, the…cub I met, was snuggling up to you as if you were his own father. Sally, not even your pack, became kind under your attentions. And your other packmate? Brian, was it? He was practically glowing under your attentions just now! Thus my conclusion: you are a good Alpha," Sherlock said this in a very methodical manner.

John stood speechless for a moment, part of him not comprehending what his Mate had just said and mind trying to catch up. While he was glowing beneath his Mate's compliments he was also incredulous. He never really thought about it truthfully, he had only been doing what was right. The cubs were cubs and his packmates, well, they were family; it only made sense to John. To have his "accomplishments" stated so bluntly, while flattering, didn't really register to John. As far as he was concerned he was only doing his duty to his pack.

Clearing his throat John turned his head to the side to see Lestrade staring at them expectantly, "So you never did tell me what I'm doing here," he muttered, trying desperately to change the subject.

Whether Sherlock was going to push further or not, John will never know because at that moment Lestrade intervened. The silver-haired Beta smelled nervous as he approached John but he also held himself tall, though submissive to John's Alpha status. Things were looking up the longer he spent with Sherlock.

Before the inspector could get a word out Sherlock interrupted with an almost possessive gleam in his eye that set John's blood to boil in the best of ways, gesturing towards the blue suits folded neatly on the table he said in a kind tone (for him), "Put that on."

John felt more fond and amused than he did ruffled at being ordered about by his Mate like a wandering child, he found it cute. Sherlock would be able to handle the cubs easily if he had this attitude. As he began to slip it one he met Lestrade's eyes and raised an inquiring brow, knowing the man wished to speak to him. At the man's desperate glance towards Sherlock John chuckled, not even attempting to hide anything from his Mate; Sherlock had probably caught on anyways.

"You may speak in front of Sherlock Beta Lestrade," he spoke kindly, pulling his bad arm through the suit last before zipping it up, "He is a member of the Watson Pack, as I am sure you are hoping to be, correct?" he asked, a knowing look in his eyes.

Lestrade's eyes widened, as did Sherlock's which John didn't even attempt to hide the pride he took in putting such an expression on the man he was coming to care for, "How did you-," Lestrade began, trying to collect himself, not blustering unnecessarily, something John could respect.

John smiled amused, "It was easy enough to guess. Your Alpha committed some heinous crime, something you felt unable to bring before the Council or any other Alpha due to the situation. You then, subsequently, challenged said Alpha to a battle to the death as is your right as Second; you won. That is the only way to explain the cut of the bond that once was with your Alpha. The fact that your pack no longer holds an Alpha tells me that while most of the pack deems you a good replacement, there are dissenters and you yourself doubt your competence. That added with the nervous sweat you've been letting off since I came into the room equaled the fact you wished to join my pack as a conclusion," John told him, smiling with a deep understanding which caused Lestrade to relax beneath his soft, blue gaze.

Lestrade stared at him mouth agape before he burst into laughter, holding his sides. John let this pass before tilting his head in question at the inspector, who began to wipe tears of mirth that had escaped the corner of his eyes. Grinning the Beta stood up straight and spoke easily, "You are so much like Sherlock when it comes to observations but the way you deliver it could not be any more different," the man said, mirth still shining in his eyes.

John was confused; he didn't think he was anywhere near Sherlock's level of deduction. Sure he could observe, it was his duty as Alpha to do so to ensure his pack's safety after all, but no Sherlock was by far the better at it. Turning to gain Sherlock's opinion on the matter he found the tall man staring at him with an indistinguishable, manic light in his eyes with his hands shoved deeply in his Belstaff coat and ebony curls forming a halo around his pale features. John was sure he was letting out enough arousal to fill the whole city with its scent if Lestrade's wrinkled nose and knowing smirk were anything to go by. Casting one last look at Sherlock John hurried to finish dressing while keeping his conversation with Lestrade going strong.

"Would the next full moon be suitable for the induction?" John asked, going over the plans for the upcoming full moon in his mind. Besides Sherlock's own induction and the running with the pack nothing filled the night.

Lestrade, who had been making his way to the stairs, froze in shock and Sherlock easily beat him to the lead having gotten over his own moment of being frozen it seemed, "You would induct me just like that?" he asked incredulously.

John chuckled and gently nudged the Beta up the stairs, "You and Sherlock are close, I trust his judgment. He trusts you, in his own way, and that speaks a lot for you character. I can also tell by your scent. I don't know if you know this but Alphas have an ability to see the character…the _soul_ if you will….of any Beta or Omega or human we come upon whether they are our pack or not. Lestrade, yours is a glowing beacon that illuminates the smog of the city; very similar to Sherlock's actually. So yes, just like that," the Alpha said, limp gone as he easily climbed the ever-spiraling staircase with Sherlock in the lead.

John could felt not only Lestrade's stare but Sherlock's held breath as his scent turned softer with hope, finally the inspector spoke up in a quiet, awed tone, "I would be honored."

John stopped and turned, placing a warm hand on the silver-haired man's shoulder and meeting his eyes directly, "It is I who should be honored. Beta Lestrade you have proved your merit and if you are willing I hope you will think over taking the Second position. My sister, Harry, fills the position now but will soon be retiring due to her Mating," John left Lestrade in a shocked stew as he lengthened his stride up the stairs to catch up with Sherlock.

Finally, after a few more moments of dazed silence on Lestrade's part, Sherlock spoke up, "Where are we?" John wanted to laugh, they had been climbing steps for how long with Sherlock in the lead? And the man hadn't even known where they were going. Fondness grew in his chest.

"Top floor," talking business seemed to be the thing to break him out of his daze, John would have to remember that, "I can give you two minutes."

"May need more," Sherlock called back, almost teasingly if his quickly hidden grin was anything to go by.

Lestrade accepted this easily as a man who was used to such gestures, and perhaps he was. The bond between the two was familial and made John want to howl in pleasure. Everything had gone to shit since he had returned from war, or so it seemed. Then he met up with Mike consequently meeting Sherlock and his luck began to change the moment his Mate gracefully strode into his life.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards, we're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long, some kids found her," Lestrade seemed to be reporting to his boss the way he rattled off details and his amused John up until he found out that it had been cubs to find her. Sending up a silent prayer to Diana, in hopes that they were not permanently scarred by finding a corpse, John focused back on the present as they reached the top landing and the open door.

The whole building looked about ready to be condemned with disgusting wallpaper and peeling paint. All the colors were dull and faded to John's eye, that is, until he stepped in and was met with a shocking splotch of pink in the center of the floor. It was their victim. She was prone across the center, left hand stretched out next to a carving in the floor: her note. Damn that had to hurt. She wore a shocking pink coat and matching shoes and business skirt; flawless but for the frizzled hair and the fact that she was dead. Sniffing casually as Sherlock snapped for Lestrade to "Shut up" because he was "thinking and its annoying" John froze.

She had been a werewolf.

**The End**

**DeRanged: I know it's a cliff hanger, but I will be getting on the next chapter very soon so don't worry. If you watch the shows you'll have a vague idea of what might happen next.**

**Sherlock: Review….so she'll shut up.**

**John: Sherlock! *gives him a reprimanding stare, though it's gentler than it usually would be***

**DeRanged: Yeah, not very convincing Johnny. It's okay, I've had worse. But Sherlock is right! Please review.**


	4. Chapter 3 Part 2

**DeRanged: While I realize it is delayed, hopefully the result will be well worth the wait. **

**Sherlock: Humph, not likely as I am not in this one as much.**

**John: *strokes a hand through the man's curls* Even with what she did to Mycroft?**

**Sherlock: *brightens* That's right. Well done, Madam DeRanged.**

**DeRanged: *bows* Why thank you Mister Holmes *turns grinning off to the side* If you would please?**

**Mycroft: *comes out with a dispassionate look on his face* Madam DeRanged does not own any of the Sherlock characters but, obviously, owns the OCs introduced.**

**DeRanged: *claps while grinning mischievously* Marvelous Mycroft! Enjoy! :D**

**Chapter Three: Mysteries and Meetings Part Two**

**LAST TIME ON WEREWOLVES IN LONDON**

_Sniffing casually as Sherlock snapped for Lestrade to "Shut up" because he was "thinking and its annoying" John froze._

_ She had been a werewolf._

**PRESENT TIME**

John stood in horrified silence, staring at the dead form of the woman before him. How had Lestrade not noticed, the scent was practically permeating the room…or was it? As Sherlock bent over the woman's body, John took a moment to take a larger inhale of the room. He understood now. The rain coupled with the smell of death over the Beta would have covered her natural wolf scent along with the wolfsbane the killer had obviously sprinkled over her. Inhaling it John fought the urge to sneeze repeatedly; ugh he hated wolfsbane.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought struck John: what if the other three deaths had been werewolf murders as well? Were these hate crimes? Or was it an AWOL hunter who wasn't happy with the Guild and Council's treaty?

Before John could ponder further or share his findings Lestrade spoke up impatiently beside him as Sherlock rose from his position of examining the woman's prone form. John had sadly missed his Mate in action.

"Got anything?" if Lestrade's tone bothered the only human in the room, the tall man didn't show it barely glancing at the detective inspector.

"Not much," he muttered shortly, fiddling with his phone.

Suddenly a voice from behind John caused the Alpha to tense as he turned to meet the eyes of a familiar, smug hunter, "She's German. _Rache_: German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something," Nathan Argent said, leaning on the jamb of the door with arms crossed over a broad chest and eyes challenging John.

John fought his first instinct of tackling the man and removing his head from his body, that's what Argent wanted. Nathan had held a grudge against John's kind since John's father had denied Nathan the bite. That hatred and jealousy had passed on to John as a result and Argent had gone out of his way to make John's life a living hell. However, one thing John had learned while in Afghanistan was that his emotions in the moment did not matter. He treated it much like one of his squads missions and promptly ignored the pompous git, merely raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Lestrade's wide eyes.

Thankfully, Sherlock (still looking down at his phone and obviously disregarding the worm in the doorway) walked over saying distractedly, "Yes, thank you for your input," before slamming the door in the bastard's face. John took secret (not all that secret if the half-smirk Sherlock shot him was anything to go by) pleasure at the smell of anger and the curses coming from the man behind the door. Served the arsehole right.

Lestrade cast a disgruntled look between Sherlock, John, and the door before turning back to Sherlock who stowed his phone back into his coat pocket and looked about the room in an almost distant manner; he was in his own world and John couldn't help but to admire him despite the fact he was in such close proximity with a flight risk in the form of Argent.

"So..she's German?" the doubt in Lestrade's tone was obvious, he didn't trust that hunter no matter how far he could throw him, which was pretty damn far considering.

Sherlock scoffed, eyes darting about the low ceiling, "Of course she's not. She's from out of town though Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff," he muttered, as if no longer talking to them but to them but to himself, "So far, so obvious," here that haughty tone that John had sensed many times before now came from Sherlock, his hands in his pockets.

John snorted, relaxing finally when he sensed the hunter's presence leave the doorway and ran a hand through his growing sandy hair, "Obvious?" he asked, tone showing some of his disbelief, "Sherlock, I'm afraid our minds aren't quite as exciting as yours," he teased his flatmate, gentle smile showing that his comment was not meant to harm.

Sherlock closed his mouth from whatever sharp comment he was about to make unthinkingly and looked under his lashes at John sheepishly in a manner that set John's blood aflame, "Right, well," he muttered softly.

John noticed Lestrade's curious look towards him but tapped his nose subtly causing a light of understanding to enter the Beta's blue eyes before the silver haired wolf spoke up, "But what about the message?"

Sherlock ignored his friend, his attention only for John. The Alpha fought the need to preen like a peacock under his Mate's attention and met Sherlock's intense gaze with one of his own, an eyebrow raised challengingly.

Sherlock finally spoke up, "Doctor Watson, what do you think?" John couldn't help but snort at Sherlock's continual formal address but then again had John requested his Mate call him John?

Quickly shaking away those thoughts for a more convenient time before speaking up, "The message, the woman, or both?" he asked easily, eyes running over her prone form in sympathy. She hadn't even had time to get her claws out to defend herself. She died like prey, something all werewolves feared when they brushed death. John himself would prefer to go down biting, blood of his attackers dripping from his muzzle.

Sherlock tilted his head, intrigue building like a manic light in his eyes, "The body mainly, seeing as you are a medical man though I am curious as to what insight you have on the message," the human claimed, coming to stand closer to John something that had the wolf purring contentedly as Sherlock's scent wrapped comfortingly around them.

Lestrade sputtered, obviously uncomfortable witnessing what appeared to be an intimate conversation, "Oh, we have a whole team for that right outside," he said desperately, hitching a thumb over his shoulder towards the closed door.

John felt bereft when Sherlock tore his piercing silver-blue eyes from him to Lestrade when his Mate sneered, "They won't work with me," he growled, obviously exasperated with Lestrade's protests already.

_Probably because he's thought of all of Lestrade's possible responses_ John thought to himself, glancing quickly at the text he had ignored before so as not to forget. He instantly regretted it, as it caused his hackles to rise.

I WILL DO AS I DAMN PLEASE, YOU PIGHEADED BRAT! –MS

Thankfully Lestrade's voice cut through the haze of fury that began to settle over John, it appeared he had been gone to long if Molly believed she could get away treating him as a child. He was the Alpha of the Watson Pack, despite her hatred of the fact, and he would have the respect he had earned.

"Oh do as he says," the Beta said, tone exhausted and so weary that John pitied him for a moment before he turned his attention to the body as Lestrade took a step back to allow him room, eyes subtly averted to show respect as he passed. It seemed even now the silver-haired man's wolf could sense John's own wolf's rippling anger beneath the surface of collected cool.

John knelt with little difficulty, thankfully, and leaned down to get a better sniff of the woman's personal scent rather than the one permeating the room. Yes, she was definitely a werewolf and, here he fought his instinctual urge to cringe away, she had died on silver asphyxiation. The worst way for a werewolf to die; the werewolf's body would reject the silver however because of it being ingested the silver became one with the body and thus the body's cells began destroying themselves. Essentially their bodies betrayed them, their wolves went mad and attacked the human mind, and the person was helpless as they were paralyzed and unable to do anything. Though they only looked to fall asleep in the end the means to getting there was excruciating and John sent a silent prayer to Diana for the wolf's spirit, hoping she returned to the stars to run in the Hunt with their Mother.

"Well?" Sherlock's deep baritone tore him from his inner musings and John glanced up to see both men still waiting for him.

With a sigh, John pulled up a leg so it was bent before him as he stared down sadly at the woman at his feet, "She was a werewolf and died in the worst way one of our kind can," he said in a soft, mourning tone, "She was forced to ingest silver and reduced to helpless prey," John ended in a angry whisper, he spat out the last word as it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Lestrade gagged, knees weakening as he fell helplessly against the wall beside the door in his disgust while Sherlock's eyes widened before sharpening in curiosity. Seeing this John swallowed bile at having to explain this to the light of his wolf, but pushed forward. He would not lie to his Mate, "While being shot with silver and having it injected into our blood stream is harmful and painful, it can still be expelled," here he paused and recalled the time he had been forced to watch one of his packmate's ingest the silver, it was horrifying and belittling.

"When we ingest it, it becomes part of your very cells due to a werewolf's human side as it fights to adapt to the intrusion. However the wolf identifies it as not self and fights it, we are destroyed from the inside out as our human side and wolf side war with one another. While this is going on within, the werewolf is paralyzed and unable to move should they face an external attack upon their person as well. Whoever did this had no qualms using such a method, it's a truly horrible thing to see let alone induce," John turned his eyes to a point over his Mate's shoulders so the man could not see the shades and demons dancing in their depths.

Sherlock's voice once more broke through like a ray of sunshine through thunderclouds, soft and gentle, "What are your opinions on the message?"

Bless his Mate, but the man was trying. John fought away the shadows of things past and turned his attention once more on his Mate knowing this would keep them at bay for the time being, "She was going to write another letter before the paralytic effects of the ingestion took effect," he said calmly and methodically, dropping into his professional demeanor as he once more glanced down at the prone werewolf.

Lestrade finally joined the conversation, "How can you tell?" he strode forward to stand at John's back, a comforting and familial warmth washing over John's wolf and him.

John pointed where the word _Rache_ had been carved into the wooden floors, "Do you see the tail of the "e" and how it's slightly longer and reaching out further?" when he saw the silver haired Beta nod out of the corner of his eye John continued, "You usually don't see such a trail when the "e" is the last letter. Here let me show you, do you have a pad and pen?" he asked, standing and holding out a hand expectantly.

Lestrade nodded and quickly pulled out his police pad and a pen from within his jacket and handing them to John curious. John gestured for Sherlock to join them, and with both men flanking him and looking over his shoulder John wrote the words "werewolf" and "mate" on the pad, "I want you two to write the same beside mine and then I'll explain," he said passing the pad to Sherlock, grinning internally when their fingers brushed lightly.

When both men had finished and added their own hand writing to the mix John nodded satisfied, "Do you see how the tails on all our e's in our writing of werewolf are longer than the one in mate? It's because we naturally try to link our letters together as we write, a mixture of what we were taught in grade school and our natural instinct to write quickly. However, when it's the last letter we stop promptly and don't drag the tail because we have no more to write," he explained, pointing to each "e" as he explained.

Lestrade glanced between the pad and the floor where the message was carved with an awe-filled gaze. Sherlock, however, was staring at John with an unexplained emotion in his blue eyes, darkening them to an almost ocean blue and the smell of pine trees spiked and continued to grow as Sherlock continue to stare at John. John had no complaints and was happy to meet his Mate's gaze for however long the human wanted to hold it; as long as the man's attention was on him John was happy to stay in that position for hours.

Lestrade, it seemed, did not agree with John as the silver haired Beta spoke up suddenly, interrupting the heated gaze between the two, "Two minutes is long over Sherlock, I need whatever you've got," the man said, crossing his arms.

John fought a grin when he saw just how uncomfortable his soon-to-be Second shifted about uncomfortably; obviously John had been letting of scents of arousal, poor bloke. John couldn't get any further in his sympathy for the Beta, he was happy being the sappy, aroused Alpha he was now that he had located his Mate.

Sherlock tore his gaze away from John's (much to said Alpha's disappointment) and focused upon his friend, eyes sharpening and lightening once more, "Victim is in her late thirties, professional person going by her clothes. I'm guessing something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink," John cringed slightly, recalling this was the first thing to gain his attention when stepping into the room. It made sense, now that he thought about it, that the woman would be media; John would like to think a person wouldn't normally subject themselves to wearing such an atrocious color, "Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night; that's obvious from the size of her suitcase," John turned amazed eyes to Sherlock. The human had gotten all of that without the senses of a werewolf? John couldn't imagine what the man would be like _as_ a werewolf.

Lestrade became confused, "Suitcase?" he asked, arms falling to his sides as he took a slight step forward as if the nearness to Sherlock would explain things.

Sherlock's response was quick and distracted as he walked gracefully around the scene, twirling in some odd dance to music it seemed only he could hear. It was as if he were listening to the tune of the crime scene and it told him the story, "Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, none of them knew she was married," here John felt bile rise in his throat.

Was it truly that common for werewolves to abandon their Mates now? If so John was disgusted with his race. It seemed Lestrade agreed with him if his grimace and distasteful look were anything to go by.

"Sherlock," John's voice came out as a rasp, as he stared down at the woman before him. He hated himself that his sympathy for this woman was quickly drying up, "how can you tell she has been unfaithful?" he didn't look up so his Mate would not see his eyes flashing angrily.

Sherlock hesitated in his steps for one moment something no one would notice regularly but John was already extremely intuned with his Mate's movements to not have noticed. The human man was confused but willing to assist as he quickly began rattling off his deductions, "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry's been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails, she doesn't work with her hands. So what, or rather who, _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them, simple," this last word was said with a certain amount of smugness.

John was too busy fighting off the urge to throw up in the crime scene to find this adorably cute or amusing. Sherlock it seemed read this quickly because he was at John's side with a hand on his arm, inches above his elbow, "What is it Doctor?" he asked in a low tone, worry coating his tone.

John choked through his rising bile, "It's just John, Sherlock. I think after going to a crime scene together we would be on a first name basis," here he broke into short hysterical laughter, still reeling from the information his Mate had fed him. A string of lovers! Dammit, was the bond between wolf and Mate no longer sacred?!

A certain sternness coated Sherlock's tone now, "John, what is it?"

The sound of his name from his Mate's lips finally broke John out of it and he turned to meet eyes that had turned a deep gray-blue in their concern for him. Smiling a strained smile John attempted to explain, "Wolves sense when another is Mated and always marry said Mate," John explained tiredly, "The only reason Harry had married Clara was because she believed her Mate was dead. The link we have to them was silent and dead in her mind so the Council allowed her to marry another. Turns out, her Mate had been in a coma for years after a freak accident," here John shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order, "All that is beside the point. Werewolves cannot marry unless it is to their Mate. To hear that someone was unfaithful to a Mate is sickening to Lestrade and I merely for the fact that finding your Mate is rare and to cheat on them, when they were made to balance you, to be your light, is horrifying," John finished with a haunted whisper.

Lestrade merely nodded weakly from where he was using the wall as a support and John felt a surge of concern for his future packmate. Before he could move forward to offer the man some form of comfort John felt a tentative, slender arm wrap around his shoulders lightly as if unsure of how welcome it would be. Instantly John melted into the positive attention from his Mate and the half-embrace became bolder and stronger as the Alpha turned into his Mate's attempts at comfort. For his part John wrapped his own arm around the man's slender waist, making a mental note to make the man eat more as he was far too thin for John's doctoral tastes.

Standing there in silence for moments John soaked up the warmth and comfort his Mate offered him freely before muttering from where he had buried his face in Sherlock's chest, "That was brilliant by the way," he whispered, arms tightening fractionally before he reluctantly went to draw away.

Sherlock, however, didn't seem to like this idea much as his other arm came out to wrap around John to keep him close. Shocked, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth John once more buried his nose in his Mate's neck this time (fighting the urge to mark him) and inhaled the man's soothing scent. John was surprised to feel himself growing more relaxed and realized that he had still been distraught and Sherlock had responded subconsciously to John's emotions. This had John's wolf's tail wagging like a domestic pup's much to his human side's disgust and amusement.

Lestrade seemed to have gathered himself because he spoke up quickly, "Cardiff?"

John felt Sherlock's chest vibrate in equal amounts of soothing and arousal as the man holding him spoke in an aggravated tone, "It's obvious isn't it?" he asked, and John could picture him with an arrogant tilt of his chin that had him wanting to lick along the man's jaw.

Shaking this thought away quickly before he grew in places he shouldn't at the moment John spoke up from his place in Sherlock's chest, "Sherlock, he can't scent anything with his senses because of the heavy rain she is covered in and the smell of silver and death. It's overpowering anything else he may have gleaned from it," he explained calmly, not wanting Lestrade to get too angry with his Mate.

There was a pause before Sherlock silently tightened his arms around John's waist gently and went about explaining without any further insult to Lestrade's person. John was a bit shocked but kept silent to listen to his Mate's deductions; they never failed to amaze him and he had only known the man less than twenty-four hours.

"Her coat, it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain for the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time," Sherlock was warming up as his voice became more passionate and John could feel the man's body twitching to match movements with the feeling in his voice. Why did people believe this man to have no emotions? Perhaps they failed to actually look, "Under her coat collar is damp too, she turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, but strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella," so that's why he had stroked his hand over her back, neck, and umbrella. John had been a bit worried there at the beginning, "We know from her suitcase she was intending to stay overnight; she must have come a decent distance, but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been strong wind and heavy rain within the radius of that travel time?," here Sherlock pulled back one of his arms but the other was firmly wrapped around John still, not that the Alpha minded. Seeing the flash of his phone John understood, must have looked up weather reports, "Cardiff."

John pulled back slightly to look at his Mate with wide and adoring eyes, "That's fantastic!" he said, grinning up brightly at his shocked Mate whose arms had yet to leave him much to his inner wolf's pleasure.

Sherlock tilted his head and spoke in a low, confused tone, "You know you say that out loud?"

John tilted his own head to mirror Sherlock's, "Sorry, should I stop?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice not wishing to make the man in his embrace uncomfortable.

Sherlock's eyes were alight and a slight uptick of his lips told John he was fighting a grin, "No it's," there was a pause as his eyes traced John's features heatedly, "fine," he ended satisfied, apparently, with what he had found.

Lestrade, genuinely uncomfortable now, spoke up quickly not even bothering with propriety and clearing his throat, "Why do you keep saying suitcase?" he was fed up trying to get those two back on focus but John could tell there was also a fondness to his sharp tone.

Sadly, this seemed to get Sherlock moving and he unwrapped his arms from John and began pacing about the small attic room once more, looking around as if the suitcase he was looking for would be hiding there somewhere, "Yes where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. We need to find out who Rachel is," at this last sentence John's eyes widened, of course. Rachel. Why hadn't he thought of it?! The tail was so long, even longer than usual even when not being the last sentence that was only seen when "l"s were being written after them.

Lestrade seemed to share his thoughts because the detective smacked his forehead, rubbing his temples afterwards. John couldn't help but sympathize with the Beta; they should have figured it out after John mentioned the e's tail. The man spoke from behind his hand which covered his tired features while Sherlock came to a small stop by John's side.

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" he asked, not even looking at the consulting detective, too busy rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

John worried after his Beta and, while Sherlock left his side once more to look about the room, the Alpha approached the man and wrapped a soothing arm around the DI's shoulders, purring soothingly. Under his breath, before Sherlock could begin explaining, John spoke lowly and kindly, "Our minds don't run quite as fast as his, we have to believe we would have realized it eventually. Lestrade, don't beat yourself up merely because he spotted a detail he has wired his brain to spot."

This said John stepped back to see Sherlock's dark eyes trained on the two and there was a bit of irritation in the twist of his lips. Curious. It may just be John's wishful thinking, but it looked like his Mate was jealous? Maybe? Hopefully.

However, Sherlock didn't give John the chance to observe further as he turned to point at the woman's body to show what he was talking about, "Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Can't get that splash pattern any other way," and how would he know that? John wanted to snort as he imagined his Mate testing this himself over weeks but quickly keyed back in as Sherlock continued quickly, "Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes conscious: could only be an overnight bag. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" this last part was partly accusatory as the slender man turned sharply and met Lestrade's gaze directly, looming over the silver-haired Beta's slightly shorter frame.

Subconsciously, John moved forward and rested a soothing hand on Sherlock's coat-covered arm. Not really thinking it would do anything, but Sherlock seemed to melt beneath his touch and relax towards John's warmth which only encouraged the Alpha's observations so far. Was it too early to hope? Most likely.

Lestrade's tone was defensive as he crossed his arms as if to protect himself from Sherlock's penetrating gaze, "There wasn't a case," he said irritated.

Sherlock froze beneath John's hand and it looked like he had been turned to stone for a few seconds before coming to life in a burst of energy, "Say that again," he demanded, pointing at Lestrade with a long, dexterous finger.

Lestrade seemed taken aback, almost as much as John was at the moment, but managed to stutter out his words from before, "There wasn't a case…there was never any suitcase," he cast his gaze to John, pleading the Alpha to make sense of Sherlock's ramblings.

John shrugged easily as his Mate made large, loping steps toward the entrance to the attic room and threw it open as he strode purposefully into the stairway, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?!" this last sentence was said almost desperately as he loped gracefully down a few flights of stairs in his urgency to get the answer to his question.

John followed the Beta quickly into the stairway himself and leaned on the rickety banister to be able to look at Sherlock better down on the next landing while Lestrade shouted from next to him so Sherlock would be able to hear him with his weaker human senses, "Sherlock, there was no case!"

Sherlock spun to face them, his face contorted in his passion as he gestured widely, "They take the poison themselves. They chew, swallow the pills themselves! They are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them," this last part was said dismissively but John knew most would be insulted as they didn't realize the man was just far too absorbed with his thoughts to think of social niceties.

Lestrade seemed to realize this as well as John because he merely brushed it off, "Right, yeah, thanks. And?!" he said, leaning once more over the banister to be able to see Sherlock clearly over the edge.

"It's murder. All of them, I don't know how. They're not suicides, they're killings, serial killings," Sherlock said this with an almost childish delight as he clapped his hands together and clasped them in front of his mouth, quite cute if John were being honest, "We've got ourselves a serial killer, love those, there is always something to look forward to," Sherlock called out as he made his way down the stairs with a spring to his step that hadn't been there before the case.

"Why you saying that?" Lestrade cried desperately after him, making John sympathize. It seemed Sherlock had found something else for his attention and was unwilling to give Lestrade a straight answer as a result. John had notice it the moment his Mate had ran down the stairs forgetting him as the human man was usually self-conscious of where John was in his proximity.

"Her case!" Sherlock shouted aggravated, "Come on! Where is her case?" he demanded, his arms were moving about tryingly and John fought the urge to smile fondly down at the man below their standing place, "Did she eat it?!" at this John couldn't fight the snort that came out, the sudden image of the werewolf in the room behind him trying to shove a overnight, rolling bag in her mouth, "Someone else was here and they took her case," Sherlock concluded before he began to mutter lowly to himself but both werewolves on the top landing heard him perfectly with their acute hearing, "So the killer must have driven her here….the case was in the car."

John jumped in now, thoughts running a mile-a-minute fighting to keep up with his Mate's quick thinking or even get so far as tagging behind, "She can't have checked into a hotel. I would have smelled the bleach and detergent that always clings to people who check in," at the confused looks thrown toward him he shrugged, "Have you ever resisted the urge to fall to the bed the moment you reach your hotel room after traveling, let alone in the shitty weather Sherlock claims she faced?" seeing conceding looks he continued, "Plus her hair looks frizzy. The way she was dressed it seems unlikely she would have left the case there and then left the room with her hair looking like that."

John's attention was drawn by the sudden spike in the smell of old books and pine trees in his Mate's scent and he found the man holding his hands in front of his mouth with his eyes wide with a sudden epiphany if John deduced correctly, "Oh," the man whispered before a bit louder he repeated it, "Oh!"

Lestrade spun to turn his attention back to Sherlock worriedly where it had once been trained on John with wide, respectful eyes, "Sherlock?! What is it, what?" he asked desperately, afraid his friend had gotten hurt somehow in his inattention.

Sherlock was too far in his own thoughts to reassure the already silver-haired man worrying after him, muttering to himself, "Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake," he claimed.

Lestrade, realizing that his worry had been for naught, he sent an aggravated glare down towards Sherlock as he practically snarled, "We can't just wait!"

Much to John's further amusement, Sherlock sent an exasperated look up towards Lestrade. Really, this was almost as good as those stupid soap operas the men in Afghanistan had been forced to watch because they couldn't get anything else. They had all laughed themselves to tears while watching, even the women officers. If only he had a video recording he could send it over for the men still on the front, give them something more to laugh about.

Sherlock's equally irritated voice brought John back to the ensuing fight before him as he shouted back at Lestrade, "Oh we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston we have a mistake!" Sherlock said, gesturing up towards him (more like towards the dead body behind them), "Get onto Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" with that one last demand the lean man disappeared from the stairs and their sights though both could still hear his tread over the bottom floor towards the door.

Lestrade, as if personally insulted, called back, "Of course, yes!" before he finally realized Sherlock's intent of leaving and screamed out desperately, "But what mistake?!"

Sherlock appeared once more, gripping the stair banister almost animatedly to stop his forward momentum as he screamed, "PINK!" before disappearing once more.

Seeing Lestrade's incredulous look John patted the man on the shoulder sympathetically as officers began to make their way back into the room with the body. The silver haired Beta turned to John with wide, uncomprehending eyes and spoke disbelievingly, "How is it you are more calm than I am and you've known him for a shorter amount of time than I have?" he asked, confused.

John chuckled, "Perhaps it's because I don't expect him to be what is socially defined as normal and roll with who he is as a person," John said softly before squeezing the DI's shoulder once more and handing him a piece of paper with his cell number on it, "Here, my number. If you need anything before the moon next week give me a call or shoot me a text," John said softly with a smile.

As he went to go down the stairs Lestrade gripped his shoulder, "Can you make sense of what Sherlock was raving about?" he asked quietly, but no less desperate when dealing with Sherlock.

Chuckling John turned on the stairs, clinging to the banister as more officers made their way up the stairs, "She seemed disgustingly obsessed with pink don't you agree?" he asked amused, "If her outfit was pink, and her shoes were pink, what do you think the color of her case is?" here he winked before continuing his way down the stairs.

As he reached the third landing he heard Lestrade's exhausted and amusing cry of: "Why the bloody hell couldn't he just say that?!"

Fighting off laughter John made his way out of the building and toward the area of tape where Sergeant Donovan stood talking to one of the uniforms. As he made his way towards the tape he glanced around, not really expecting to see Sherlock anywhere, but making the attempt anyway. Apparently, Sally had taken his lazy perusal for genuine interest in Sherlock's location because she turned to him, "He's gone," and before John could get a word in the woman spoke again in the irritated way that sought connection and sympathy, "He does that."

John raised an amused eyebrow at the woman, she seemed so much like a five-year-old listing the downsides of her new younger sibling to family members in an attempt to gain their attention back, "I can see that, thank you. Now if you could tell me where I am and tell me where I could get a taxi, I'd appreciate it," he said in a kind voice, gesturing towards his now throbbing leg (the stairs were finally catching up to him), "My leg is still giving me trouble."

Sally seemed to be off put by his disregard to her words and stuttered, turning towards the exit of the alley they were in before lifting the caution tape for him, "Uh, yeah, you're in Brixton and you might want to look on the main road."

Smiling in thanks, John limped his way beneath the tape only to turn back when Sally called out to him, "You're not his friend. He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" she asked, looking him up and down.

John fought the urge to growl at the impudent Beta but calmly turned to her with crimson eyes, "I thought we already established that as well as my relationship with Sherlock, Miss. Donovan. Do not destroy what timid relations we have now by making an ass of yourself," he said kindly, his fangs giving him a subtle lisp that the Beta wouldn't have noticed.

_Sherlock might have though_ Harry's traitorous voice was back then.

However, Sally didn't seem able to get the hint as she continued forward, "Bit of advice: stay away from that guy," she said, leaning forward as if trying to be secretive with their conversation.

John sighed, it seemed he wouldn't be going anywhere until the woman had her say and turned fully to the dense Beta, "And why should I stay away from him, madam?" his voice was cool and professional a far cry from his warm tone before. Once again the Beta remained oblivious.

"Do you know why he's here?" she asked, and John fought off a snarl as he responded coldly, "Please, enlighten me." She seemed to take this as encouragement and continued as he had hoped she wouldn't, "He's not paid or anything. He likes it, he gets off on it. Weirder the crime, the more he gets off," John raised an eyebrow, he highly doubted she meant what he thought she did. While he knew Sherlock received some form of mental stimulus he didn't think Sherlock became physically aroused at the scene of a murder like Donovan was suggesting. The man was professional and removed himself to gain more of an edge and to find the victim justice. In John's opinion anyways, he doubted Sherlock knew this either. He was brought back by Sally's voice once more, "And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there," this last statement had John's blood freezing in fury. John didn't experience fire when he grew angry, no he froze.

"And why would he do that," his voice could have frozen the whole block but the Sergeant powered through, disregarding the obvious fury in the Alpha's dancing, crimson orbs.

"Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored," she said as if talking to a child.

This broke whatever control John may have held on his tongue around this idiotic Beta, "Are you finished, then?" he demanded in a deadly calm voice that was deep but he had not changed, oh no his human side was in full control and that was his most dangerous state.

He may have taken some pleasure to see the woman take a step back in shock and gape at him as he continued, "Good, because now it is my turn to talk and you will shut your snout until I am through, am I clear Beta?" when she did not respond John coated his tone with his wolf's own snarl, "**I said, am I clear?!**" he snarled.

"Y-yes Alpha Watson," she stuttered, eyes wide and amber as her wolf reacted to an Alpha's demands.

"Wonderful," it was obvious by the sarcasm in his tone that John cared little for her or her words, "You claim Sherlock would resort to killing for the mere fact of becoming bored, but that is where you are wrong. That human's moral compass is beyond that I have ever witnessed even in my time in Afghanistan. His satisfaction comes in solving the crimes, not committing them," here he gave her a roguish grin, "If anyone were to become a murderer, it would be me. After all, I believe I have more blood coating my claws than that man has seen in all his years," John said in a deadly, neutral voice, "The next time you wish to offer me advice bitch," here he narrowed his eyes and flashed his fangs, "don't."

With that he walked away and made his way to the main street, completely ignoring the pay phone ringing off to his right. As he walked toward the main street, his leg began to throb steadily less and he tried to calm his pacing wolf as it snarled at the Beta's daring.

_**How dare that bitch insult our Mate! We should have shown her, her place Watson **_it snarled at him, hackles rising steadily with each sweep across John's mind.

_He's right that brainless slut wouldn't know a psychopath if it fucked her up the ass!_ Harry's voice snarled in his mind, _I mean look at the worm she was laying with!_

The wolf growled low in agreement, _**Exactly! Lying with a wolf who has a Mate! Even a Beta could scent a Mate bond, are you sure the cunt didn't know and wasn't trying to get our sympathy?**_ He snarlingly asked John.

Harry's voice muttered _I wouldn't put it past her. Whore._ before John could try to reply.

If John didn't know better he would think he was going mad with voices yelling in his head. He walked down the crowded side walk, ignoring another pay phone ringing as he responded to his wolf's angered claim.

_'You know as well as I that her shock at the announcement of Anderson's Mate was genuine. Unless she is a flawless actor who should be in Hollywood in the States across the Pond, I am pretty sure she was being truthful,'_ he thought.

Before his wolf got a chance to respond John froze as the phone within the small chicken place his left only began to ring as he passed. Staring at it, suspicions grew in his mind and were only confirmed when the phone stopped ringing the moment one of the workers reached for it. Once was a chance, twice a coincidence, but three times? That's a pattern. Something was going on. John was instantly focused on his surroundings and his senses once more rather than his internal battle; they were being watched by someone. Someone wanted their attention.

_Well the creep's sure got it that's for sure_ Harry's voice gave one last stubborn remark before going quiet as well leaving John's mind blissfully blank to allow him room to react quickly to anything that may come.

Walking a bit more quickly, dodging other pedestrians with limber, almost acrobatic movements, John was stopped once more as one of the red telephone boxes was filled with the rings of the telephone there once more. John couldn't help but find cynical amusement in how such an innocent device could hold such horrible possibilities, but then again he had seen far worse in the war zone. Stepping inside, John shut the box door and picked up the phone, "Hello?" he asked, in a deceptively cheerful tone.

A man's voice, not very deep but sophisticated and posh and the tone sounded very familiar to John, "There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" it asked in a slow tone as if the man on the other side felt no rush, he wasn't fearful of any consequences of his actions then.

John followed the instructions, knowing any questions he asked would be ignored most likely, "Yes, I see it," he said and watched as the man demanded as it turned toward the street.

The voice sounded again, a bit of smugness in his tone that rang bells in the back of John's mind, "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" John turned to see it move as well, "And finally on the top of the building on your right," John began to feel like a bobble-head as he turned his head toward the instructed area as well only to see the same results.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes John watched as a sleek black car drove up to the curb where the telephone box was located, the windows were tinted and made sure that John would be unable to see its inhabitants even with his eyesight.

The voice on the other line sounded once more, "Get into the car, Doctor Watson," John barely jolted at the sound of his name as a man stepped out from the driver's seat and opened the door to the back of the car. The man was large and bulky, slightly intimidating but John was unimpressed. The man was human and wouldn't last three minutes in a fight with John as he was only trained for the flimsy combat of being a body guard, "I would make some kind of threat but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you," with these parting words the line went dead.

Turning an incredulous gaze to the phone John was contemplating the mental capacity of the caller if he thought John was cowed in any way by what he had witnessed. If he really wanted to John could easily walk away but there was something about that voice and the verbal mannerisms that tugged at something in John's memories and had him walking over to the car to appease his curiosity. His wolf was silent, as was Harry's voice, because both knew that they would be able to get out of any situation easily enough with little, to no, damage to their person.

With a cheeky grin to the wimp at the door, John ducked into the car only to be met with an overwhelming scent of heavy perfume. Fighting his urge to gag, John sat down with neutral features; he wasn't about to give anything important away.

Across from him a woman in a sharp business suit sat fiddling about on a blackberry, the owner of the atrocious perfume. As the car started once more and pulled out into the traffic John subtly lowered the window by an inch to allow the air from outside to invade the small cab of the car and this is what drew the woman's eyes away from her device.

There was a weak attempt at a threat as well as a bored gaze that had John wanting to role in hysterics. The poor girl.

"Hello," John greeted cheerfully, knowing he had thrown her off by his casual way of greeting in such a situation, "What's your name, then?"

She finally turned her eyes back to the small screen of her phone (a defense against revealing emotion John observed) as she gave a delayed answer, "Um, Anthea."

Oh, ouch. She needed a smoother delivery of her fake name if she wanted to pass that off as her real one.

"Well then _Anthea_, a bit of advice for you dear," here he turned his gaze toward the window to watch as the city buildings thinned out before transforming into industrial buildings, "Whoever you are trying to impress with that perfume is more than likely going to be repelled as it smells as if you've bathed in it," he said calmly, not removing his eyes from the scenes passing the car window.

The stunned silence he was met with brought him great satisfaction as he had caught the hint of superiority in the woman's gaze as she had looked down her nose at him. He would allow many things as his patience was great, but he would never allow himself to be looked down upon. The silence continued throughout the rest of the ride, but it was more uncomfortable on her end now than it was before.

John fought a snort as they pulled into an abandoned factory, how cliché could this man be? Turning to see the car's headlights shine on a silhouette of a tall figure leaning on what appeared to be an umbrella with a single chair before him John got the impression that he had seen nothing yet.

Casting one last easy grin at the woman before him he climbed out of the car gracefully and strode strongly toward the figure. He felt confidence and an easy calmness that always fell over him when in a threatening situation whether in his favor or not. Anything could be turned around with the right move; John had used that to his advantage countless times. It would do him no good to get cocky.

The voice that had come from the other side of the phone called out while he strode up, "Have a seat John," he used his black umbrella to point toward the metal chair.

John's mind moved quickly and came to a conclusion by the time he reached the chair _Hidden blade in the umbrella, weak and meant for surprise not durability. Can easily snap. Chair not made for comfort. Trying to intimidate and unbalance. In conclusion: cautious but believes he is in control._

With that John offered a wide grin that showed his sharp canines, though his fangs were firmly withheld despite his urge to let them slide out, "Don't mind if I do," he said with an easy humor, as he pulled the chair about and sat in it backwards, legs on either side and leaning against its back, arms crossed as he set his chin on it. This seemed to throw the man off his guard as John smiled up at the man, body relaxed as he spoke, "You know I do have a phone," the tone he used was much like the fondness one uses when amused by a friend's actions, "You could have called me on my phone rather than chase me down with those ridiculous pay phones."

As the suited man gathered himself, John subtly inhaled and was hit suddenly by the familiar base scent of old books. Then the pieces began falling easily into place. The scent, the sophisticated tone, the amount of smugness hidden in the voice: this man was a Holmes. And by the age John was willing to guess the man before him was Sherlock's brother as there was no wedding band on his left ring finger to indicate marriage thus ruling out any chances that he was Sherlock's father.

"You don't seem very afraid," the man said, raising an eyebrow though the rest of his features remained perfectly neutral and calm.

John was slightly impressed, but showed none of this in his eyes or on his face as he continued to smile easily at the man before him as he responded cheerily, "Well you don't seem very frightening," John wasn't willing to give away his knowledge of the man's identity, he wanted to know what Sherlock's brother could want with him.

There was a flash of something in his eyes before he gave a fake smirk, none of his emotions reaching his eyes. In a way it would be off-setting but John had witnessed worse in his years, "Ah yes, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" here the Holmes man tilted his head with a condescending smile at the relaxed soldier before him, "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" he demanded, getting serious once more when John offered no response to his last question.

John observed the man before him and finally gave a cheeky grin, eyes shining with the glint of mischief that hadn't been seen there since his pup days with Mike, "Physical," he said with a straight face taking great pleasure in the man's loss of control.

Quickly, too quickly for the human before him to see, John snapped a picture of his face getting a feeling that Sherlock would love to see such an expression on his brother's usually reserved features. By the time the elder Holmes collected himself John was casually leaning back from his former position on the backwards chair, phone nowhere in sight, "Totally joshing with you mate," John said grinning but his eyes were deadly, "Why should it matter to you thought? Who are you?" John asked easily, wondering if the man would give up pretenses or draw it out.

The man gave him a strained smile, obviously only doing so as a social nicety, "An interested party," was all he said, thinking this would be the end of it. He didn't know John very well, then.

John made his eyes widened comically, leaning back further, "In Sherlock's sexual life?! Are you a scorned lover or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward as if this would make him be able to see the answer to his question.

The elder Holmes completely dropped his mask as disgust crossed his face and he took a step back, utterly speechless for a moment. John was dancing and preening smugly in his mind at making the man leave his station _and_ drop his mask of neutrality and kindness.

"I am the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having," he said, having finally collected himself once more after a few minutes of silence.

Was he going to reveal his blood relation to Sherlock already? John tilted his head, relaxing once more leaning his chest on the back of the chair and placing his chin on his folded arms as he tilted his head, "And what's that?"

"An enemy," the man said succinctly, giving John a pause once more. Damn, the Holmes men sure did have a flair for dramatizing everything it seemed, even a sibling rivalry.

John allowed none of these thoughts to show on his face as he raised an eyebrow, "An enemy?" the skepticism in his tone was palpable.

The man, clearly thinking he had gained the upper hand of the conversation once more continued his act, "In his mind, certainly," he said smiling, as if sharing something with John, "If you were to ask him, he would probably say his arch enemy," here there was disinterest coloring his tone as he observed the end of his umbrella but John could see the flash of smugness in his eyes. Wow, possessive much? "He does love to be dramatic," the man said with a final tone of exasperation.

At this John made a show of looking around the abandoned factory building with concrete floors and only stacks of the day's work littering the floors, "Well, thank God you're above all that," John said sarcastically, making a dramatic show of showing relief.

This brought out an irritated glare from the man as his phone let out a howl from his pocket. That's right he had turned up the sound on his phone. Ignoring the continued irritated stare John pulled his phone out once more, slower this time, and glanced down to see that Sherlock had texted him.

BAKER STREET. COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT. – SH

Raising an eyebrow John typed a reply before putting it back in his pocket.

A LITTLE TIED UP AT THE MOMENT. BE HOME SOON – JW

The man spoke up gaining John's attention, "I hope I'm not distracting you," he said in a mock concern.

John offered a mocking grin in return, "You are, but I find myself in the opinion that you don't care either way so shall we get down to business?" he said politely in a tone he only used in irritating Council meetings.

The attempt at a smile dropped from the elder Holmes' face and he said seriously, "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" he was once more leaning on the stupid umbrella.

John leaned further a bit more, his eyes serious and deadly calm, "Why do you want to know?" he asked, not willing to let his pride interfere with his game.

"Because if you do move into, um," here he pulled a small, cliché black book from inside his suit jacket and opened it to read something off of it, "two-hundred and twenty-one bee Baker Street," here he shut it and looked up to meet John's steady blue once more, "I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way," here the fake smile was back.

How irritating.

All attempts at politeness were gone and John was completely expressionless, he was in soldier-mode instantly as he repeated, "Why?"

The man raised a brow at his sudden expression change but continued, "Because you're not a wealthy man," he replied, bowing his head.

John stood with a deadly grace and turned the chair into his exact position from before, "How kind of you," he said politely before tilting his head, "And what would I have to give in return?"

The Holmes man gave an attempt at a reassuring smile, "Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to," he casually soothed.

John felt his hackles rise at the man's treatment, he was not a child with a moral dilemma nor was he a cat with ruffled fur, "You know, I am getting tired of repeating myself," he said, eyes turning icy and threatening pain, "Why?"

There was a responding change in the man's features as well as he too grew a dangerous darkness about his features but John easily scented his fear. He didn't know how it would turn out, but John did.

"I worry about him. Constantly," he pronounced this last word perfectly and with some emphasis that made John raise an eyebrow. What a weird way to show his protective older brother instinct. Damn. John was going after his younger brother and would be part of that weird family soon…hopefully.

"How nice for you," John replied, posture relaxed yet prepared for anything.

The man continued on, not acknowledging John's slight at him, "But I would prefer, for various reasons, that my concern go unmentioned; we have what you might call a….difficult relationship," he said mock politely.

A howl interrupted whatever response that John may have given immediately. The Alpha was debating between irritation and relief at that as he pulled his phone out to see Sherlock had responded.

HOME? – SH

Something warmed in John's chest and he instantly felt a calm fall over him. He would get through this for his Mate and then return to him soon. Texting a quick reply John replied to Older Holmes as he did so.

YES, I HOPE THAT FLATMATE POSITION IS STILL OPEN FOR TAKING? ;) – JW

"No," he replied, finally looking up to meet slightly happy eyes as well as some challenge there. Ah, he was being tested. Wonderful.

"I haven't mentioned a figure," the man said, head tilted.

John smiled gravely at him, "I'm saving you time. I don't need to hear a figure as I am all together uninterested in a deal with you," he said calmly.

The man seemed to grow dark and icy and drew up to his full height, "You are very loyal, very quickly," he said condescendingly.

John leaned forward, "Hmm, not quite," he said smiling playfully, "You see I am only loyal to those who are worthy of that trust," he informed the man before him.

He pulled his book out once more and read from it, "'Trust issues,' it says here," he said making John raised an impressed brow. He had gained confidential psychological files from his former therapist. Government, then. Hmm, he would have to get Damien to investigate the older Holmes, see how he liked it.

John held up a hand, smiling kindly at the man before him, "Let me save you time Mr. Holmes," he said, reveling in the man's frozen from and wide eyes, "The therapists whose notes you are reading was completely inept and should soon be out of a job. I take it you acquired my file from her and thus did not get all of my information," John gave a sympathetic smile and gestured toward the metal chair, "Perhaps it is your turn to have a seat?"

The man shot him a dirty look and stayed where he was, muscles tense, "Oh calm down. You Holmes never can take it when someone levels the playing field can you?" John joked, smiling kindly at the man before growing serious once more, "Let me fill you in then shall I Mr. Holmes?"

The man's eyes narrowed, "You may as well call me Mycroft," he sneered, and waved a dismissive hand, "And please, _enlighten_ me."

John bowed his head in mock respect, "Well then Mycroft, let me start by saying that I am an Alpha of the royal werewolf Pack, name Watson, and that when I returned from Afghanistan I was suffering from the simultaneous snapping of multiple pack bonds as well as the after effects of a torture session with a psychotic hunter. With that said, Sherlock is part of my pack and as a result that option is open for you as well. I can see you truly care for your younger brother and are trying to help in any capacity he will allow. So there is no need to pay me as I am perfectly well off and I am willing to give you updates as an Alpha providing information of one packmate to another," John smiled politely at the gobsmacked look Mycroft sported.

After a few minutes Mycroft finally cleared his throat and walked over to collapse in the metal chair, "That file was lacking quite a bit of information Doctor Watson," he managed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

John smiled and walked by, placing a hand on the man's shoulder in passing, "If you have any more questions Mycroft? Speak to Damien Porter, he's a good conversationalist over a cuppa," with this he gave a wink and made his way to the still idling car.

Before he climbed in the back his phone gave another howl and he pulled out the cell to see Sherlock had responded once more.

OBVIOUSLY – SH

Even with that one word John could almost hear the haughty tone his Mate would have used and gave an amused chuckle as he climbed in to see a shocked Anthea staring at him with wide eyes.

Grinning wolfishly John tilted his head, "Seeing as you took me here, I think it is only fair you take me to where I need to go don't you think darling?" he drawled, leaning back into the leather seats casually.

She opened her mouth to respond, eyes flashing with anger only to be silenced when her phone gave a buzz. She gazed down at the screen for a few minutes, disbelief obvious in her eyes before she looked up at him with a forced politeness, "I'm to take you home."

Grin growing John fought off laughter, "221B Baker Street if you would, but we'll need to make a stop first as I need to collect a few things," he said casually, ignoring the woman across from him from that point on; settling in for the ride and letting his thoughts run freely once more.

**The End**

**DeRanged: Just for future reference (I will be putting this in the beginning of each chapter from now on to help as well):**

_**Wolf Interacting with John**_

_Harry's voice/Human side_

John is the joining of the two

**I hope that helps. Like I said I will begin putting that at the beginning of each chapter. Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait and I ask that you review!**


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